Three Little Words
by truhekili
Summary: Begins soon after the season six finale. Will be long, probably 25-26 chapters. Frequent updates. All main characters owned by Shonda Rimes/ ABC. Mostly Alex/April. Mentions of Meredith/Cristina friendship.
1. Chapter 1

Her first time with Dr. Stark was even better then she'd imagined. It was candles and roses and dinner and he was her knight in shining armor and her first time fantasy came to life.

They'd all been wrong about him – the gossipy nurses and the snickering residents – and she reported that smugly days later as she sauntered off to scrub in on a bowel repair with him –imagining their next time, when she might be scrubbing in with him more literally, like Lexi and Jackson did, when they did it in the shower.

She giggled at the thought, and their second time was better than the first – and their third time was the first time she opened her eyes, and the fourth time made her understand why Jackson always had his tongue down Lexi's throat.

It was just like the stories her mother told her and her sisters when they were young, about princes and white horses and magic glass slippers. It was just like the romance novels she read in high school, while her friends went out on dates and to dances and ice skating at the mall. It was just like the fantasies she'd had in med school, about Dr. Lawton, who was tall and blond and had bright blue eyes that lit up when he spoke – though never actually to her.

It was just like that fluttery feeling she got whenever he lectured their Gross Anatomy class– the feeling Reed teased her about – because Matthew Lawton was forty three and an instructor at Ohio State Medical School and a rock star surgeon and widely published in his field and he had every woman in the hospital after him, even the vivacious super model turned head nurse in Renal Transplant.

Reed would have been after him, too, April imagined, if she'd thought she had a shot at an Attending, and she'd have been jealous to hear about her and Robert Stark, and Reed had told her she'd be a virgin forever if she didn't grow up and get her head out of those fairy tales. She wished Reed was here now, so she could tell her that some fairy tales do come true… and watch her turn green with envy.

They could gossip all they wanted, too, for all she cared, the snickering nurses and the snippy nutritionists and the giggling technicians, because she wasn't April the thirty year old wall flower anymore, and she wasn't April the plain, over eager intern who tried too hard anymore, and she wasn't the fumbling mess who no one would ever take seriously – certainly no Attending – and she wasn't the April who was invisible to men anymore, and it was fine – it was – if they chattered jealously about how she did it with Robert, as if Lexi or Meredith or Cristina or even Dr. Bailey was any different.

Their fifth time was the first time she could make a sound without cringing, or wondering if she'd done something wrong, or was being too loud, or too grabby, and for the sixth time she bought something red and lacy to wear. It wasn't her, exactly. But she'd seen it in one of those slick magazines she'd always been too embarrassed to read before, and the article said that men liked shiny satin.

Her ears pricked up, too, and she listened to the casual conversations about it, now – even the ones that didn't involve her doing it on the hospital roof- as if she and Robert would ever do it in a public place, in broad daylight – and she almost smirked, because she's part of it now, the gossipy buzz, and she's not the only one at the hospital whose not doing it, and she's doing it with an Attending, and he's wonderful, and it was all worth waiting for, and it's almost like she's one of them now, like Lexi and Meredith and Cristina and Bailey and…everyone, even her sisters, who happily send advice and encouragement from across the country.

Their seventh time was the first time they used an on-call room, much to the SGH grapevine's delight – and the eighth time was the first time his wallet fell from his lab coat. That was the first time she saw his ring, spinning madly on the polished tile floor, and the picture of his wife, faded and crinkled, spilling out between his credit cards and his membership to a local golf course.

That was the third time her hands shook as she scrambled for her clothes, and the sixth time tears sprung to her eyes, and the fifth time her cheeks burned, and the first time she'd ever turned her back on an Attending demanding that she stop and listen, and wait for him to explain, as she hastily pulled her scrubs on and frantically fled the room.

* * *

><p>She said it was a cool scar, and she didn't freak when she saw it, and she just giggled and moved on when Alex pushed her hands away from it and she wasn't blonde and it didn't matter if she was crazy because she'd be gone by morning.<p>

It had been weeks, anyway, and she was too buzzed to ask much about the shooting, and he'd already perfected the story just in case – the story about how he would've kicked the guy's ass, if the freaking coward hadn't offed himself first, the story about how the bullet tingled when he showered, the story that never mentioned anything about the lifeless body in the supply room and the vacant stare and the black hole between her eyes - the eyes that followed him into his dreams, boring into him at 3:00 a.m.

They didn't matter, anyway, the empty eyes, because he was used to them, because it followed him everywhere. It was Ava's blood trickling through his fingers, and Izzie's wild accusations and his mother's bad patches and Gary Clark's rage, and it stalked him, the madness, and it was right there in front of him again, anyway, in the giggling red head's blank expression, and it wasn't like it mattered, if he was home in his bed or up against a wall at Joe's bar with her tongue down his throat, since it wasn't like the madness was going anywhere, any more then he was.

They were all crazy, anyway, the blondes, the red heads, the brunettes – definitely the brunettes, even the one's pretending to be blondes – and he just rolls his eyes at Mere's prodding the next morning, because she'd be doing the same freaking thing, if Yang hadn't pulled McDreamy back from circling the drain, even if Yang was now dribbling down one herself, bit by bit, as her eyes darted around the kitchen, and her chair rocked to a manic rhythm, and pale fingers clutched her coffee cup.

Mere'd be trolling the bars too, then – instead of planning some Barbie Dream house, as if she didn't already live in a palace, or a brothel – and it would be just like it was their first year, like it always had been in the bars, desperate competition for cheap booze or cheaper attention or drunken flattery or a quick lay, like mangy dogs fighting for table scraps.

It was nobody's business, anyway – the steel in his chest or the chicks at Joe's – because the chicks thought the bullet was cool, and they were too far gone to ask many questions, and he'd be the first one cleared for surgery no matter what Mere or Yang or Bailey said – and he'd move the hell on like he always did.

* * *

><p>She spent the next few hours roaming the mall, since the worse thing they could do was fire her, and they'd already done that once before, anyway.<p>

She spent the next few days avoiding everybody, and ignoring the chatter in the hallways, about Philip Stark's sudden departure – his name hadn't even been Robert, really - about his livid wife, about the pretty young nurse on the eighth floor who was threatening to sue Stark and the hospital, for sexual harassment, the rumors went, for terminal humiliation, April imagined.

She ventured reluctantly into the lunch room, where Cristina snarked and Alex smirked and Meredith shrugged while Lexi and Jackson pawed each other, oblivious to it all. She wished that Reed was still here, or Charlie, even if they'd laugh at her, too. But no one mentioned them anymore.

She wished she could talk to Meredith, but she was busy packing for her big move to the dream house that her knight in shining armor was building her. She wished that Cristina wasn't so scary, now that she'd become Chief Resident, and that Alex wasn't still competing with Cristina as if he was chasing another dusty trophy for his windowsill, and that Lexi would come up for air once in a while.

She wished the local grapevine would simmer down, or that she at least had someone to sit with in the cafeteria, so that she could eat in peace, without all the hushed whispers and curious stares. But Meredith had her clinical trial, and Cristina was buried in paper work, and Alex was researching Peds surgeries in journals and Lexi and Jackson were always running off to the tunnels and she ended up eating lunch in her car for the next four days straight, just so she wouldn't get nauseous afterwards.

She'd always been the girl who ate alone in high school, anyway, until she became the girl who cleaned the science lab. Well, that wasn't really a title. But she'd eat fast, and then she'd rinse test tubes until her fingers wrinkled, and it was boring but it made her invisible. High school had gotten much better, she remembered, after she'd become invisible. It was quieter, too – away from the deafening din of the lunch room, of the athletes and the cheer leaders and the band kids and the chemistry geeks – who never had extra seats at their tables, either.

It would give her time to concentrate on her career, now, she imagined, though Meredith still had Neuro occupied, and Cristina would defend Cardio to the death – literally– and Alex was the go to guy in Peads and Jackson had Plastics covered and Bailey still kept calling her August.

It would all die down, eventually, her sisters said, the incessant chatter about her. But not until after Beth's twenty seventh lecture on safe sex, since she'd done it unprotected, and Dani's fifteenth breezy assurance that it happens to everybody, and Cari's cheery insistence that it was no big deal, anyway, since guys come and go, and Jenny's acerbic crowing that at least she got it over with. It would all die down, she imagined, after everyone had weighed in on it.

* * *

><p>It made him invincible – the bullet - until it made him sick. It was fine, he was freaking fine – until his head starting spinning, and he was hurling – slumped shivering on the bathroom floor – with freaking Keppner hovering over him, wide eyed and frantic as she tugged on his arm.<p>

He was fine, he insisted, pushing their icy hands away – and voices echoed around him – and suffocating heat radiated through the room and his lungs burned and more hands singed his skin and hasty chattering echoed and packages ripped open and the sharp sting of antiseptic forced tears from his eyes and it all circled like a whirlpool, boring into him with a piercing pain.

He wakes hours later, or maybe a day. Pale moonlight filters into his room, and Mere's handing him water and Keppner 's hovering, her hand over her mouth, and Yang's snickering – dead eyed, still, as she shoves a fist full of antibiotics into his hand, crowing that she'd saved his life – because Mere made her.

It made him invincible – the metal shell that sits gleaming on his nightstand. It should be on the windowsill with his trophies, he imagines idly, dizzy and nauseous as his attention floats in and out in a churning haze. Its dusk -or dawn, chilly and steel grey – and Keppner is still hovering an hour later, the shaky voice asking if he needs anything, a drink or a blanket or something to eat. He's thirsty as hell and the room's freaking freezing and he'd be starving if he wasn't so sea sick, and he just smirks and rolls over because he was still hard core and he'd get his own freaking water as soon as could stand again.

He stumbles down the steps later that evening – past rows of moving boxes, carefully labeled in precise black printing and stacked much too neatly to be Mere's. He's been waiting for that, and he'll be back to living in his car or at Joe's when the dream house is done and she sells this place and it was always just temporary, anyway, because guys like him didn't live in palaces.

He's still shaky and bleary eyed as he drops into the chair across from Mere at the table, after his fourth glass of water, and he shivers as he devours a second stale pop tart, and he hears it vaguely as his head swims – that Keppner and Avery are moving in to help cover the rent.

She says it matter of fact, like it makes perfect sense, to move into a dream house on a hill over- looking the Bay, and to run a hostel for strays on the side. The coffee cup trembles in her hands, though, and she barely smirks at his bad joke about keeping a back-up brothel to return to – just in case – and it all bubbles between them comfortably like the familiar hum of the coffee pot percolating, since she's terrified to move forward and he's stuck in cement – and tequila and pain meds just don't mix, brothel or not.

It all spills out over another stale strawberry pop tart - about the baby that wasn't and the empty nursery in the dream house that she'll never be able to fill and the reluctantly packed boxes stacked in the hall and he makes another bad joke about her adopting Yang and silence settles around them again because they know all about endings and they both know better than to trust beginnings.

* * *

><p>The first time April yelled at Meredith was the first week after she and Dr. Shepherd had moved into the dream house, leaving her with the two perverts and Alex – okay three perverts – who never rinsed out his morning cereal dishes, and who just smirked when directed not to drink from the milk carton.<p>

The first time she yelled at Cristina her legs shook and her face burned bright red as Cristina snickered and assigned her to the pit, noting smugly that no Attending had requested her on their service - again.

The first time she yelled at Lexi, she just rolled her eyes and shrugged and went back to screwing with Jackson, right there on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, during a Seinfeld rerun.

The first time she yelled at Alex it was 5:36 a.m. on a chilly Wednesday, and he was chewing too loud – after pawing through the new cereal box to retrieve a toy truck – and smearing chocolate milk on the newspaper - and Meredith had asked her to keep things in order - and he just shrugged and left his glass in the sink and grumbled something about her grabbing her bag if she wanted a ride.

The first time she returned to Peads since – since – since her first time with Stark – she was working on patients from a ten car pile-up on an iced over thruway. Three kids died before her first shift was half over, but Alex managed to stabilize another – a seven year old – using something he'd read about in one of those journals he was always scanning in the lunch room.

They work through the next day, and the kid survives the first 48 hours, and Robbins seems hopeful. It's like a magic number, those first 48 hours. It makes them feel like they can say something authoritative – medically – after the first 48 hours. It's like they have everything under control, if they can just keep the patient alive for the first 48 hours.

The boy dies six days later, five days after she learned that his name was Thomas, four days after they met his frantic parents, three days after they learned that he liked dinosaurs, and oatmeal, and trains, two days after they saw a cell phone photo of his dog, Fred, a shaggy mutt of indeterminate color, one day after they'd removed him from the vent, and thought maybe he'd finally turned a corner.

The first time she went to the grocery story that week, a few days later, she bought an apple pie to go with her raisins and yogurt and fresh lettuce and strawberries. She never bought junk food. But she'd seen Meredith do that for him before, and she had promised to keep an eye on things, and he'd just eat the pie with his fingers right out of the box, anyway, so it wasn't like it'd add to the pile of dishes in the sink – the dishes she would not do, period, because he could certainly use his hands if he wanted to.

* * *

><p>He'd been toying with it for weeks, the old guitar propped against his windowsill. It was all about manual dexterity, about keeping his hands busy, and working the muscles in his wrists. It's just random chords, and he pictures the surgical procedures over and over as he strums, and sometimes it comes back to him, the little he'd learned about playing.<p>

He'd started back when he was still out on leave from his surgery, back even before the bullet had surfaced completely. It had freaked them out a little – Bailey and Altman and even Mere - which really made no sense – because it had made him invincible.

He still ran his fingers over it, every afternoon before he fiddled with the steel strings. It should have killed him, but it didn't, and it should have freaked him out, too, but it just made him more focused – on excelling in his job, on moving on, on building himself back up, on being a surgical rock star, to hell with Yang, on being hard core, and he was running again, and lifting weights.

It hadn't gotten back to Iowa, anyway, which was probably just as well. It wouldn't get back there, because Aaron was probably out on the road, and his mother didn't follow the news, and his sister was probably awash in teenage crap – and it was just as well that they didn't know.

It wouldn't have surprised them, anyway, because it's what people expected, because he'd been dragged off to juvenile detention, and moved from house to house, because he beat the crap out of his dad with his fists, because he wasn't enough to handle his mother's bad patches, because that was how guys like him died – young and violently – with metal in their chests.

It hadn't killed him, though, even if they always swore he was the problem – the shrinks and the counselors and the social workers and the cops and the rent-a-families with their neatly kept homes and their white picket fences and their barbecues and their dogs – they always had freaking dogs – dogs that always had their own beds, and food, and toys. It was crazy – the whole thing – that the freaking dogs always had food, but he was never sure if Amber or Aaron did, and that the dogs were freaking spoiled, while they were fighting for table scraps.

* * *

><p>The third time she joined him for lunch, he just shrugged and went back to reading his journal articles, again. She'd come prepared this time, though, and pulled out a glossy women's style publication which she'd plunked from the recycling bin near the Nurses' station. That was a mistake, too, she realized, after glancing over the third feature on the year's best – read, most expensive – purple lingerie.<p>

The first time she rode in with him during a snow storm she swore he had a death wish. It was a sea of white flakes and thirty mile an hour frigid wind gusts and he glued his eyes to the road and trudged on with grim determination. It occurred to her sixty minutes into what should have been a fifteen minute ride that it was too important for him to get there, as if it might be the only place he had to go. She thought maybe she got that, though, all things considered.

The first time she walks in on him in the kitchen, on an early spring morning, she catches him taping up a box of meds whose names she recognizes. She catches a familiar glare, too, and a familiar grunt to remind her that they're leaving in ten minutes, and she knows better than to ask about the Iowa address on the package, or the family she's only ever heard him whispering about with Meredith.

The first time she celebrates her birthday alone in Seattle – with basketball tickets sent to her by her parents – she invites him along. He's loud and annoying and will probably stuff himself with hot dogs and cotton candy. But she hates going into the city alone and his eating habits are his problem and they sell unsalted popcorn at the arena, too. Not that he likes it, she knows, since it's never his first choice in microwavable "food" when he watches those cheesy old science fiction movies on the nights he can't sleep. But he will eat it as long as the movie is stupid enough… or the game is good.

The first time she calls her little sister in ages, she almost wishes she hadn't. Cari is just finishing her third year of med school, and she's still young and idealistic and chatters about helping people and about how exciting her residency will be.

She wishes she still felt that way about medicine – and she curses yet another thing she has to envy one of her sisters for – her sisters who were always the pretty ones or the popular ones or the athletic ones or the artistic ones – the sisters who always had people to sit with at lunch, and who still thought their careers might help them save the world.

She wished she could feel that way. But she still wished the merger had never happened, too, and she always wished that Gary Clark had never happened, and sometimes she wished that she'd never met Robert –well, Philip - that she'd never even come to Seattle, that she'd never gone to med school. Sometimes, she wished she could do it all over again – as someone else entirely.

He's running late the next morning, and she swings by his room to remind him to hurry up, and she gasps because he hasn't quite pulled his shirt down over his chest, and it's all there all over again – the pool of blood, the sticky cold feel of Reed's lifeless body, the gun boring between her eyes, the frantic shrieking as he pulls the trigger – and she's shaking and trembling as she tears down the stairs.

He follows her down the steps, scowling and raising his eyebrows and she tries to explain and he tries to smirk but it doesn't reach his lips and he fumbles for his work bag as he mutters something about them being late. His hands are still jittery as he grips the steering wheel much too tightly, and it occurs to her for the first time that he might be running in place, too.

* * *

><p>He hurls in the bushes by the front steps, ignoring Keppner's startled gasp from the porch swing where she sat serenely, probably drinking one of her weird vitamin drinks, or a cup of steaming sea weed.<p>

He smirks as he staggers past her on his way into the house. She was freaking neurotic – and a manic neat freak – and she nagged them all about dirty dishes in the sink and squawked about laundry being put away and glared like a hall monitor when they all ignored the stupid chore wheel and she'd labeled the bins in the fridge – for tropical and native fruits, for root and seed vegetables - and she stammered and blushed beet red when anyone dug into the cookie jar for a condom, as is she wasn't a freaking doctor.

He scaled the stairs up to the shower, his legs still trembling. It's what the coaches always said – run until you hurl – it's the only way to out-last any opponent in the ring. They might be better wrestlers, or bigger, or stronger, or faster – but you could always out work them, that's what the coaches always said. He believed them, too. It didn't matter if his muscles burned or his lungs ached or bile stung his throat – because it was his ticket out – out of Iowa – after he ran off his old man.

It was more than that, by then, and he ran all though med school, ran all through residency – in the cold and rain – and they'd roll their eyes at him and question his sanity but he rarely stopped. He'd stopped once, for Ava, and the baby that wasn't; he'd stopped once for Iz, when the cancer spread. Whenever he stopped, the crazy over took him, and he imagined that made the coaches right – since push, keep running, was the only thing that had ever worked for him– and he wondered if maybe he could outrun it, if he just kept going.

It churned in his head, the voices from practice, and he tossed in his bed, and his mind was racing, but not fast enough to out-pace the vacant eyes that still stared back at him, stalking his dreams. It was almost 3 am before he walked back down the steps, because he was too tired to lift weights and too wired to sleep and it was too late for his guitar and he was just in time to catch the opening sequence of Attack of the Killer Tomatoes III on the Science Fiction channel.

She joined him ten minutes later, rolling her eyes and dropping onto the couch and announcing smugly that it was biologically impossible for a fruit with that amount of biomass to grow ten legs and he just grimaced and dug into his popcorn because he was not getting into the debate over whether tomatoes were fruits or vegetables with her- again – and really, did she not get what the term "mutant" meant, anyway?

* * *

><p>The first time she visits Dr. Wyatt's office again it's been months since the shootings and everyone's fine and moving on and she still can't sleep and it all pours out: about how Reed was the first friend she'd ever had who died, about how Reed was the first real friend she ever had, about how her first job was supposed to be exciting and fun, about how all her firsts were turning out to be lasts, and turning out all wrong – and how they all jumbled together in her head.<p>

The first pill she takes makes it official – it's not just grief or frustration or anger or rage or the dirty glasses in the sink or the Attendings who never request her for their services or the chore wheel that goes ignored on the refrigerator or Lexi and Jackson making out on the washing machine or the wife she never knew about or Alex's eating the Halloween candy or Cristina's Pit assignments or her occasional impulse to stand up and scream right in the middle of the cafeteria, if she wasn't sure she'd still be invisible even then – it's clinical depression.

The first session with Wyatt confirms it all – it has a name and a diagnosis and little yellow pills in clear plastic bottles with warning labels in tiny black print – and she's careful to hide her meds from Alex, to prevent them from being inadvertently shipped off to Iowa, or from turning up as the latest talking points on the SGH grapevine.

Word gets out anyway, since once you're a permanent branch on the grape vine you're always under observation and eyes are everywhere, especially around the comings and goings from Dr. Wyatt's office, and debate swirls about whether it was because of the shootings or of Robert, well Philip, or because she'd been fired once for killing a young mother or because Derek Shepherd would never know her name or because she just couldn't handle it… any of it.

The news of her impending insanity burns up the national network spanning her sisters' phones, too, and Jenny offers medical advice, as if she was a doctor herself, and Cari tells her to call mom, as if the Robert – well, Philip, conversation hadn't been awkward enough, and Dani tells her to think positive – as if that isn't easier if you're tall and blonde and busty and live on the upper West side – and Beth just tells her to get out more, Beth who would only ever need under three hours to throw together a party for her two hundred closet friends.

It's all awkward and creepy, anyway – with Lexi's watery, sympathetic eyes, and Jackson's weak smile – as those two move into a downtown condo together and she just lingers at the hospital as their fifth year of residency winds down, since the house is too big and Alex hogs the remote and still ignores the chore wheel and stays awake all night watching ridiculous movies about mutant vegetables.

* * *

><p>It was just for a week, he insisted to himself, the pills. The psych guy had prescribed them back when he'd cleared him to return to surgery. It would help him sleep, he insisted, just for a few days. It would get him through the next surgical rotation, through the next few sixteen hour shifts, until his next few days off. It would just be for a week – he promised himself – because it had been 3 a.m. with mutant fruits or vegetables for months and his eyes wouldn't close and he was just tossing and turning and his hands were getting fumbly in surgery and his concentration was waning and that couldn't happen because he was hard core.<p>

It was just a week going on two weeks and the pills didn't mix with beer or tequila and they made him groggy and listless in the morning and he just sat slumped on the couch after work– watching sports news or nature shows or the freaking weather channel and she'd just glance at him sometimes like he was a freak.

It was a week going on three weeks when he started taking them earlier in the evening – because they warmed his body and calmed his nerves and slowed his racing mind to a pleasant haze – and her looks got even funnier – or maybe she was just looking away – and she always averted her eyes when he wobbled into the kitchen to retrieve another beer.

It was a week going on a month when he spied the clock on his nightstand, and 4:00 p.m was still too early to take them even if he was already counting the minutes and he was fiddling with his guitar when he caught the glint of the steel strings in the dresser mirror, flashing across his father's hands.

It was another hour – maybe two – before he flushed the pills down the toilet with a fresh stream of vomit – before he wiped his mouth and changed his shoes and charged out into the chilly fall evening, running at a steady pace as his breath billowed around him. He ran until his legs screamed and his lungs burned, ran until he collapsed back onto the porch with a heavy thud, cursing himself for letting it close in on him again as he'd sat in a stupor on the couch.

It wasn't going to be him – it wasn't – he insisted, gasping and breathless and trembling as the icy air swirled around him, and he just smirked and laughed manically when the front door creaked open, and he pushed her hesitant hands away, staggering to his feet and shaking his head to clear it as another fierce shiver shot through him.

It wouldn't be him, he muttered, ignoring her curious scowl as he entered the hall way; it wouldn't be him, he insisted, as he dragged up the stairs; it wouldn't be him, he insisted, as he showered and changed; it wouldn't be him, he nodded to himself, grabbing the remote and dropping onto the couch, as another late night movie marathon kicked off, much to her dismay.

It wasn't going to be him – and it wasn't going to be pills – and he was back to Joe's the next night, and he couldn't quite tell if she was a brunette or a red head, since his brain was fogged and his eye scarcely slit open, when she pinned him to the wall – and it didn't matter, anyway, since the madness was everywhere.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time she takes a phone message for him is the third day of their summer break. It's panicked and jumbled and he's still dripping from his shower as she relates the details to him from the hallway and it could be the plot of a bad soap opera on steroids if the whole thing didn't sound so desperate.

The first time she takes the steering wheel is entirely in self-defense because he's exhausted and distracted and vaguely frantic and he's slumped against the passenger side window by the time she pulls out of the bustling gas station in South Dakota, a half-eaten package of white powdered donuts still clutched in his fingers.

The first time she pulls across the Iowa state line it occurs to her that Dr. Wyatt probably wouldn't think much of her running away from her own problems by running head long into his. But hers were just exhausting her, too, and she had picked up a new Iowa Hawkeyes key chain while he'd snagged his high fructose corn syrup and caffeine fix at the Quickie Mart.

The first time she meets Amber she gets why phone calls are rare and meds are shipped and tensions run high; she gets why he bristles when anyone stands too close to him, and why he's wound so tight he simmers, and she almost wonders if he's still taking the pills she'd seen him flush down the toilet, once, and if his name should be on Dr. Wyatt's ledger, too.

The first time she sleeps in a real farm house – not the huge suburban rambler on her parents' property – she feels the tensions rattling the rafters and the rage raking the windows and it's like a pressure cooker set to the maximum and she wonders if this is what Gary Clark's house felt like the day before he erupted.

The first time she meets his mother is the first time she notices it – that he's like thirty and five in the same breath, that he's parent and child in the same voice, that he's struggling to stay and struggling to leave, that he knows all the meds and all the symptoms and all the prognoses and that he has no idea in the world what to do about any of it.

The first time she sees him holding his brother's chart she's gets more of the story, from the twitchy, surly sister, and the soap opera worsens, and it would be so over the top it would be comical - if it weren't happening right in front of her, frame by frame.

The first time she notices his face burning red he's talking with his sister again– about book money and her community college and the brother who was still institutionalized – two floors up from the mother – and it was all a house of cards built on quick sand and it was inches from swallowing him whole.

The first time she took the steering wheel on the trip back to Seattle she got it – why he never wanted her to play the radio on their drives in to work in the morning – because no music fit and the chatter about weather and sports and politics was pointless, all things considered.

It terrifies her, really, the tiny white farm house – with its own tornado swirling inside, like a madly shaken snow globe - and she imagines that that's how it builds, the anger and the frustration and the rage and the desperation – until it erupts in a hail of gun fire or a pair of hands wrapped around someone's neck, until it's all just pills and restraints and straight jackets and charts a foot thick and vacant, addled stares.

It keeps her awake the whole ride back, keeps her awake the night after, and the next – scouring the kitchen as he stares blankly at the science fiction channel's latest movie marathon. It almost made sense, then, that he wouldn't even notice a few dishes in the sink or a pile of laundry towering on the dryer, since he'd grown up in an upended snow globe, anyway.

It was never like that at her parent's house – where the big brick rambler was always pristine and everything was in its place and her sisters all got straight A's and trophies and art awards and music scholarships and invitations to friends' parties - friends who all got straight A's and trophies and art awards and music scholarships, too -where everyone was pretty and popular and out-going and fun, well… almost everybody.

* * *

><p>It earns him a snicker from Lexi and a high five from Jackson and a scowling taunt from Yang and a stern frown from Mere, the story coursing along the grapevine, about him and the wild red head in Ortho, doing it in the Skills lab, and the Atrium, right between the giant cactus and the towering Fichus, and the lap pool in Rehab, and the back room of Joe's.<p>

It earned him a curious frown from April, too, and it pissed him off royally, because he'd seen all the looks before: the pity from Iz, when she'd learned about his mom; the bright eyed stare from Ava, when he was still the fake baby daddy to her delusions; the longing from Addison the night she'd kissed him at Joe's – as if he could do anything about her crappy life except make it worse; the twisted scowl from Amber, as if he was supposed to fix their mother, as if he was supposed to make Aaron better – since he was a freaking doctor – as if he was supposed to pull her out of the little white farm house that was damn near collapsing on all of them.

It pissed him off royally, and he glared back across the table at her, and she'd damn well better not say anything, about the sudden trip to Iowa, about the brother in restraints and the mother on the fourth floor, about the sister with nightmares and the social workers who couldn't do a damn thing, about the freaking little pills that just keep a lid on the madness, and the shrinks who do just enough to make matters worse, and the counselors who think they're doing any thing, when they smile sympathetically and tell you that people drugged to oblivion and tied to their beds are doing just fine now, as if he hadn't heard that from his mother his whole damn life, that she was fine, even as she was barricading the door against the voices in her head, as if fucking fine wasn't the original "f" word.

They weren't going to get him to hear them, either – the voices in their heads – his mother or Aaron, they weren't – and she wasn't putting this on him, Amber – because there was nothing he could do about it, and she damn well wasn't going to look at him like that, freaking April, like he was some pathetic kicked puppy, because he'd seen it all before, and he'd been doing it his whole fucking life, and he was hard core.

It was all back in Iowa, anyway, and no one would know if she kept her mouth shut, and it didn't matter at all, that they'd gotten the story all wrong – on the grape vine. She wasn't actually a red head, and she wasn't the hot chick from Ortho, and he hadn't been anywhere near the Atrium in months, and it had only been once in an on-call room on the sixth floor. It didn't matter, because she hadn't asked about the scar, and she wasn't expecting it to be more than once, and she'd be on to someone else before he'd finished his French fries.

It was a better story, anyway – the thing about the Atrium, and the lap pool, and the cactus and the hot Ortho chick – and he didn't give a crap about the details, since the whole grapevine thing was pathetic. It was just a lame floor show, for people who weren't getting it, or weren't getting enough of it, or weren't getting what they wanted from it.

There'd even been a rumor once – after Ava went crazy and Burke went AWOL - that he'd done it with Yang, and that it'd been explosive, and that they'd given each other IV's afterward. It was all a load of crap, but he'd have loved to have seen the look on Yang's face if she'd heard it– about her slutty State School screw with a mere resident – as if she wasn't all about screwing her way up the Attending food chain, as if seniority wasn't freaking foreplay for her.

It was just as well, anyway, the story about the hot red head in Ortho, since it wasn't about all the time he was spending in Peads, and it wasn't about his crazy brother, and it wasn't about the pills no one had ever found out about, not even Mere, and it wasn't like that was slumming – the Atrium or the lap pool – or like he wouldn't be interested, if the hot red head was.

* * *

><p>The first time she spoke with Dr. Wyatt after they returned from Iowa she finally told her the truth – that she was angry, so angry she couldn't even scream, at Reed for dying and Alex for living, at Meredith for the dream house and Lexi for the dream sex, at her sisters for their perfect lives and Cristina for her perfect career, at the people who noticed her and the people who didn't, at the first times that were lasts and the Attendings who never wanted her on their services and the dreams that slipped through her fingers while she watched helplessly.<p>

It all spills out in one fell swoop – like a load of flopping fish dropped onto a dock – and she's gasping and breathless by the time she stammers that she's angry at Wyatt, too, at the little yellow pills and the weekly therapy sessions and the bubbling of her aquarium and it all sounds even crazier out loud – and she's half sure Wyatt will throw a net over her right there - but the yellow pills change to red, twice a day, and they're meeting twice a week, now.

That hits the grapevine before she even fills her first new prescription and its back again, the whispers and the stares and she braces for the snarking from Cristina or the smirking from Alex or the shrugging from Meredith – and she wonders if it's better to be Invisible April, who just blends into the background, or Screwball April, whose just a few missed pills away from blowing completely.

It's weeks after that, weeks of pushing and prodding from Wyatt, while her fish tank bubbles happily, weeks of Cari sending her comics and funny U-tube clips and Jenny sending her nutritional advice, weeks of Beth telling her to get out more, and Dani telling her to focus on her career, weeks of them all reassuring her that she'll be back to normal, soon, as if her normal was anything special.

The first time she finally asks him about Reed she braces for impact. She expects a thundering storm, but gets a shrug and a muttered comment about how he doesn't remember much. A startled sneer follows, after she knocks the milk glass from his hand, and demands that he remember more.

* * *

><p>It blasts him between the eyes – her questions about the supply closet, about what he heard and what he saw and what he felt. It's demanding and annoying and crazy – as if it makes any difference, how her head was blown off, exactly – and it comes out of nowhere, her hand, and it shatters on the floor like a gunshot ringing out in a darkened corridor, the glass he'd just been drinking from – and he shoves her hand away and it's all around him all over again.<p>

Her eyes are still staring at him – boring into him – pleading for… something…. Something he can't do, something he can't be, and it's all in front of him again, the puddle of blood and the icy elevator, and he'd yell back but the air's been sucked from his lungs again and it all spills out in a bitter, angry rasp. It's there all over again, the look, the terror and the pity and the horror brewing in her eyes and he'll suffocate if he doesn't get out of there right that minute and the last thing he hears is the front door slamming as he tears down the porch steps.

It's another red head that night, too – in a bathroom at Joe's bar – it had to be, and her eyes are just as vacant and she's too giggly and buzzed to demand much and they're mostly dressed so she won't see the scars and she's too focused on getting herself off to notice that his hands were still shaking.

It tore right through him, anyway, like a gunshot – and it was like a junkie's high even if he was still cold sober. It has to be. It can't be pills or booze – because that's his father – and it can't be voices in his head, because that's his mother, and it can't be rage because that's his brother, and it can't be shaking hands and 3 a.m. movies – because that's his career up in smoke.

He ends up in an on call room afterwards, and he tosses and turns and stares at the ceiling and he's sure this is the last stop before Crazyville if he doesn't get moving again. It's all about survival, and it can't be pills or booze or chicks – it can't be anything if you need it, because that's just the fucking junkie DNA screaming in his veins.

It's hours instead, he decides right there, it's double shifts and more research articles and perfect fellowships applications – to anywhere – to trauma or internal medicine or Ortho – because he's not going to be one of them, like his mother or Aaron or Ava, because they're not taking him down with them, because he's hardcore.

* * *

><p>She was pressing her luck and then some and she knew it- and it was glowering and ugly and bitter – and it turns out he remembered Reed too well – and she's still shaking hours later as she roams through the hospital and enters the deserted supply closet, running her fingers over the retiled floor, which gleams blurry and unfocused through a wave of tears.<p>

She'd been done with it, she'd promised herself months before; she was over it, the crying and the sleepless nights; she was moving on – with Wyatt, and her sisters, and her career – she was fine, she'd insisted, she'd be fine, if she just went to the memorial, if she just remembered the fun times they'd had together, if she just looked to the future.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. There were steps and stages to grief, they'd learned that it med school, and she'd done them all right – she'd had to – because school was the only thing she'd ever been good at, and she always followed the instructions – and that's how it was all supposed to be, she was supposed to move on.

Even Reed would want that, she imagined, smirking to herself, and she almost looked around, because Reed would make fun of her, if she saw her here, and Reed would tell her to get her head together and get on with things, and Reed would be pissed at her – if she screwed up her residency – and Reed always told it to her point blank, and Reed was never one to sugar coat things, since she was more blunt then Jenny, even, and Reed would probably just tell her to get her head examined again, and chortle as she went back to her Yoga, or to scoping out hot guys.

It's not like that for her, though it's never been that easy – as easy as walking up to someone and just saying hello, as easy as just raising her hand in class, as if everyone wouldn't be staring at her and waiting for her to make a mistake, as easy as out-hustling the others for the best surgeries, as if she could just push someone else aside when it wasn't her turn, as easy as just moving to a new city and starting fresh, as if she still didn't have trouble navigating Seattle's bewildering maze of one way streets, whenever she went to the basketball arena.

It wasn't like that at all, not for her, and she just wandered quietly to one of the on call rooms, listening carefully and pushing it open sheepishly and peeking inside, rolling her eyes at what she might find. It was empty, thankfully, and she just dropped onto the bottom bunk and spent the next few hours tossing and turning and watching the shadows from underneath the door slit creep across the polished floor.

She couldn't go back to the house, not now, and she was working the next evening, anyway, and she had another session with Wyatt scheduled in two days – for all the good that seemed to be doing her, she smirked to herself – and it occurred to her as she drifted off to sleep that she wasn't sweeping up the glass, even if she'd technically knocked it from his hand, because she had a right to know how Reed died, and she had watched all those silly movies with him, and she hadn't even said anything about him picking all of the miniature Snickers bars out of the Halloween bowl already, even if was still a week before the trick-or-treaters would come.

* * *

><p>It made perfect sense, and he just shrugged and smirked when he volunteered to take Yang's shift in the Pit the following weekend, and he ignored Mere's questioning glance, when he signed in to do a bowel reconstruction with Bailey. He'd do extra surgeries, he'd put in extra hours, he'd observe whatever operations he couldn't scrub in on himself, and he'd cover all his bases, because he'd lost out on Chief Resident, and they'd be applying for Fellowships, soon, and he'd take whatever he got – General or Ortho or Neuro or Cardio – anything hard core.<p>

He'd haunt the hospital, and it'd be great, anyway, since Halloween was coming up, and that was every hard core surgeon's favorite holiday – when the fake crazies came out with their chainsaws and their power tools and their axes through the head, and he wouldn't have to listen to April chirping about costumes or decorations or the freaking candy bowls in the hall, as if he was supposed to know that the good stuff was off limits to people who actually lived there, but not to the mangy beggars who'd just as soon toilet paper their trees.

She was pissed at him, anyway, or pissed about Reed – or at Reed, or because of Reed, or for Reed, he couldn't quite tell – and it was just like a chick to bug him about dirty drinking glasses and then basically smash one on the floor and he just grumbles as he sweeps it up the next morning, in between mentally planning out the adhesion dissection he had scheduled with Robbins for that morning, and the aneurysm repair he'd signed in on that afternoon.

He's got hours between the two, though, and he watches from the gallery as Hunt struggles to manage a traumatic arm amputation from an industrial accident. It's the coolest surgery he's seen in weeks and he snickers as April eagerly seizes the limb and he wonders sometimes if her passion for trauma is a little sick – since she's so squeamish about spiders and horror movies and the condoms in the cookie jar – but she is into Halloween, and the mangled limbed, red dusted sugar cookies she'd made for the nurses had actually been pretty good.

* * *

><p>The first time she sees him afterwards its three days later. She places her tray beside his on the table, drops a bag of barbecue potato chips next to his soda, and pulls out a decorating magazine to read while she eats her salad. It's not an apology, because she needed to know, and he was there, and he survived, and it was only right, anyway – that he'd replaced the miniature Snickers bars he'd picked out of her plastic pumpkin and skull bowls the week before, as if preparations for the holiday weren't complicated enough without her having to swat his paws away from the candy she'd bought for…the…children.<p>

It wasn't a peace offering, either, because it all still simmered under the little red pills and the neat lines in Dr. Wyatt's appointment ledger, what they'd taken from her – Gary Clark and Philip Stark, and what they had that she didn't – her perfect sisters and the chatty nurses who ran the grape vine and the popular kids in high school and Lexi and Meredith and Cristina – the ones who had it all or did it all - and did it with Attendings, without becoming laughing stocks – the ones who got it, while none of it made any sense to her, not since the day she'd stumbled over Reed's body, while searching for a box of paper towels.

They have lunch together for the next few days after that, in studied silence, until she finally tells him the truth: that Dr. Wyatt is helping and the pills are helping and she still feels Reed's body sometimes, all icy and covered in blood, and that sometimes she wishes she'd never met the best friend she ever had.

He's blinking and bewildered by the time she stops to take her first breath and he looks like he looked when they'd visited Iowa – like he'd bolt in a heartbeat if he had anywhere to go, if he could even imagine having anywhere to go – and she finally just mutters something about him probably thinking she was crazy.

It's another of those smirks, then – like he's trying too hard, like his face can't quite form the proper expression if he doesn't really mean it – and she gets that part, she always had once she'd heard Meredith tease him about it in private, that he was a terrible liar – and he was and it freaked her out, too, sometimes, since sometimes he also seemed to have X-ray vision and the ability to see around corners and hear through solid walls, and it terrified her really, how long she'd already spent, while she watched mutant bananas seizing New York city, trying to figure out what color his eyes were, and what they always seemed to be struggling not to say.

She was doing it again, she noticed almost immediately, and she glanced back at her salad and she changed the topic entirely – to her decorations at the house and the batteries she still had to pick up for her motorized Frankenstein model and it occurred to her abruptly that that point probably wasn't doing her claim to sanity much good with him, but he just smirked and shoved some fries into his mouth and added that he'd hang the witch from the Oak tree in the corner when they got home, if she wanted.

It wasn't what she was expecting, not at all – since he'd already made his feelings about holidays pretty clear – but he'd probably volunteer to do anything at that point that didn't involve talking, especially not about Reed, and it wasn't like he'd ever turn down the candy or the cookies that went with this particular holiday, and really, a grown man who collected cereal box toys and watched glowing radio- active pears hold entire small Midwestern towns hostage really shouldn't talk about what she was dressing up as when she handed out candy to "the mangy beggars"… um, to the children.

* * *

><p>He'd drawn the line at stringing up the matching skeletons on either side of porch – as if they were even freaking scary – and that was it, he was done. She was sneaky and couldn't be trusted at all, though, and it was an out-right bribe, the smell of her bone shaped sugar cookies and her skull shaped frosted cupcakes as he went back into the house, and it was just ridiculous, it was, for a grown woman dressed like a witch doctor – a witch doctor? Yeah, he got it, already, not funny – to demand that he throw on a costume if he wanted any treats, since that was the first rule of Halloween.<p>

It was crazy, he insisted, and it wasn't like she was the Halloween Hall Monitor or anything and he'd bought half the candy in her freaking cauldrons – even if, yes, he'd eaten the first batch, whatever – and it just wasn't happening, it wasn't, until she pulled the first sheet of fresh baked frosted ghost cookies from the oven and waved them under his nose.

It was cheating all the way – something she freely admitted to, with the maniacal cackle she usually reserved for their training drills on Hunt's trauma service, where she became a hyper- competitive loon – and it set his blood boiling and his voice grumbling as he scoured his closet for the makings of a make shift pirate costume, complete with patch and bottle of rum.

Soda, she insisted, correcting his out-fit immediately, since they'd be handing out candy to children, and he had no idea where the "they" came from since all he wanted was some cake and a few Snickers bars – and maybe a few of those red cookies – and it wasn't like he even did holidays and it wasn't like he didn't have better things to do then shove Skittles packets into the sacks of greedy seven years olds – even if he wasn't on call that evening despite his best efforts.

It had nothing to do with him being on Robbins service, either, despite April's insistence, and it wasn't like he even liked kids when cool surgeries weren't involved and it wasn't like anyone even knew what a witch doctor looked like, anyway, and it didn't matter at all that the moon was almost full by the time the porch was overrun with gap toothed super heroes and frilly five year old ballerinas smiling shyly at him, with the coolest space vampire he'd ever seen, and a wide eyed, giggling little mermaid whose scales wouldn't stay in place in the light breeze.

It was just a fake holiday, anyway, he grumbled, gnawing on a Milky Way – because the mangy beggars had already cleared out the Snickers – and it wasn't like he noticed, anyway, her laugh as she bent over to gently straighten a young Jedi's mask, or the sweep of her glittered hair, shimmering beneath her own pointed hat, or the way the smirking four year old frog gazed up at her adoringly, with a throaty, squirming "ribbet," as she dropped a fistful of candy into his little plastic pumpkin, and offered to turn him into a prince with one of her potions.

* * *

><p>She wins a pair of basketball tickets in early December, from a raffle she'd forgotten she even entered weeks before. The arena is still in the city, and she still gets turned around too easily in the maze of one way streets, and he still snickers because she'd never even find her way back to the parking lot from their seats, and he just rolls his eyes as she settles in with her fuzzy foam finger and her lucky key chains and her fog horn.<p>

The first time they split a bucket of popcorn she learns that basketball is his third favorite sport – after wrestling and football – and that his dusty trophies were his meal ticket to med school, and that he was just into Peads because it was hard core – and that he remembered that Reed was bendy from her Yoga, and that that probably would've made her great at, well, it.

The "it" started as a racy joke but came out all awkward and fumbly, as if he'd forgotten she wasn't a virgin any more, as if they'd all forgotten it, on the grapevine, since doing it with a three timing Attending was apparently not nearly as entertaining to speculate about as her comings and goings from Dr. Wyatt's office.

It was inevitable anyway, she imagined, since "it" was all Lexi thought about, and Meredith and Cristina always joked about it, too, and having it was apparently the only way to be normal at Seattle Grace, though it wasn't like she had any illusions any more, about it being something special, and really, it hadn't even been worth waiting for, all things considered.

The first time they eat in an actual restaurant – a place with clean metal utensils, she points out to him – she sees it all over again – that first date with Stark, the candle light dinner before her first time, the beautiful bouquet of roses he'd given her the day after – and she just frowns and stares back at her steamed chicken and reminds herself not to focus on the vegetable side plate or on keeping her napkin in place, on any reminders that she'd done this before.

The first day after she stops taking the little pills she dyes her hair more reddish. He doesn't ask, he probably doesn't even notice, nobody notices, most likely, and it doesn't matter anyway, because she's on Owen's Trauma service again and people who are struggling to breathe and bleeding profusely rarely take the time to inquire about the latest hair products advertised in the women's magazines.

She gets several compliments anyway, and dirty dishes still pile up in the sink and she buys more apple pie and snatches one of his journals away from him at lunch and they end up arguing about the best treatment for a rare bone cancer and it hits her while he's digging through his barbecue potato chip bag for the crumbs that journal reading in a crowded lunch room is a lot like washing out test tubes, all things considered.

That doesn't make sense, really, because he's the go to guy in Peads and he was a wrestler in high school – and they always had a table - and he has Meredith and Cristina and he can have it whenever he wants it – judging from what the nurses say about him – and he never had any problem standing up for himself, though she still wasn't washing his dishes – and it wasn't like he cared what anybody thought of him, something Dr. Wyatt had always said she cared too much about, really.

* * *

><p>It happens every time – every freaking time he holds a baby - the giggling from the nurses and the oohing and aahing from the technicians and the stern reminders from Robbins, about supporting the head and watching for swelling and checking the monitors and listening for the integrity of the air way, as if he was just going to haul them out of their bassinets like sacks of groceries, or toss them to one of the custodial guys like squirming little footballs.<p>

It annoys the hell out of him, and he should be more careful about it that evening but he isn't, and he's already turned seven shades of beet red when Mere swings by the nursery at three a.m to check on one of her patients, while he's grumbling to his own wide-eyed, cooing charge - about nurses and Robbins and technicians and chicks in general – as the three month old boy curls contentedly into his chest, tugging on his stethoscope.

He was checking on his patient, too, he reminds Mere sternly as she smirks at him; he's a doctor, he points out bluntly as she giggles; the boy's post-op from a totally cool, kick ass valve repair, he insists, as she nods and snickers and goes about her own work; he's preparing for a very competitive Fellowship, he reminds her – more competitive even then Neuro – as she giggles and fills in her patient's chart; peads is freaking hard core, he sputters, as she tugs on a balloon tied to her patient's bassinet, smirking again as she walks away.

He just rolls his eyes at the night nurse who slips in a few moments later and smiles broadly at him, and he's sure he'll hear it at lunch the next day, about how he's freaking Dr. Seuss, and he's sure it'll make the rounds on the grapevine, again – that Karev's on day care duty again – and he's sure he'll be able to trace that back to Yang, again, and it's not like he had any freaking choice, since he was supposed to monitor the infant closely, and it wasn't his fault that the nursery was chilly and dark and a little spooky on the night shift, or that Jason didn't sleep all that well unless he was rocked first, and what were the freaking rocking chairs there for anyway, if no one was going to use them.

It's not like he's there permanently, anyway, and he's back in the Pit a few days later, trolling for cool surgeries. It happens a few hours later, a five car pileup, and he's got a screaming, terrified five year old with two open fractures, and he pages her without thinking, because he needs another set of hands, and she's the go to chick for gory trauma kids, and to hell with Hunt since, he tries, but he'd just make the kid scream louder anyway.

* * *

><p>The first time she notices random vegetables appearing in the refrigerator on shopping day, at least, according to the chore wheel, she's vaguely baffled. It's not that she doesn't appreciate it, but he knows nothing about how to pick cucumbers, and the broccoli is entirely too soft, and squash never comes in that color, no matter what the sticker says, and fruit juice has precisely zero nutritional value when it comes in little plastic fruit shaped jugs with smiley faces.<p>

The first time they go to a movie together – a Tuesday matinee, with a two for one coupon because he's as broke as he is proud – she learns that cotton candy residue is impossible to remove with the handy-wipes she keeps in her purse, and that his pig headed commitment to survival of the fittest extends to his unwillingness to use hand sanitizer before digging into the popcorn – as if he'd missed that week in med school about preventing common viruses from spreading – and that his definition of "hot" can extend to vicious aliens with ten legs and green blood if the costumes are stretched tight enough across their surgically enhanced boobs.

The first time they end up at a bar that isn't Joe's, and that's just them, she realizes that she's started to notice when it's just them. She has no idea what that means, since "them" is really just a pronoun, when you get right down to it, well, that and the name of one of his favorite alien movies.

The first time she notices that her laundry has been removed from the dryer is a mixed blessing at best. He'd been gone before she got home, off to his next shift, and it was… different, really, that her clothes sat in a towering stack on her bed. It was just that he'd folded – everything – some things in ways they wouldn't possibly bend naturally, and she just sighed and rolled her eyes as she dragged out the ironing board, grateful that she could finally watch a movie that didn't involve raging swamp mutants or radio- active fruit or impossibly hot Martian women flaunting boobs they'd obviously gotten from Mark Sloan.

The first time she sees the flyer on the bulletin board near the Nurses' station, she sighs and walks right past; the second time, she averts her eyes; the third time, her fingers graze her cell phone; the fourth time, she calls Meredith for permission, cringing; the fifth time, she dials the number at the bottom – just to ask a few questions; the sixth time she stops and scans and studies and frowns, and runs through all the reasons why this is a bad idea.

The first time she brings Winston home she learns that he's housebroken but a chewer, that he's mostly Corgi, and that Corgi's are too smart for their own good; that he likes squeaky toys but nothing with fur or bells; that he welcomes a short walk but is too lazy for fetch; that he understands doggy doors but not why the couch is off limits; that he prefers canned food to dry, and that the workers at the dog rescue hadn't been kidding when they said he snored.

It was all starting to simmer down until the first time Alex came home, and there was snarling and barking – she couldn't tell from who – and grumbling about a mangy speed bump on the rug – and it all just goes downhill from there over the next week or two, and she untangles the last shreds of Winston's blue mail box squeaky toy from the remains of Alex's leather work bag – both gnawed almost beyond recognition - and frantically promises them she'll replace them both.

* * *

><p>It follows him everywhere, the annoying mutt she picked up at the shelter – for reasons he can't fathom. It chews everything it can fit in its mouth, and it's always begging for whatever he's eating, and it's always sprawled on the couch it's not allowed on – and it's always in his spot – and it drools on his shoes when he's trying to watch sports news, and it sheds all over the rug, and it doesn't look too bright no matter what April says, and it snores worse than Mere, and as silly a name as Winston is for a dog, it fits this one, and not in a good way.<p>

He'd never get it, the dog thing. Cats, he got. Not that they were much better, but at least they had some pride, and they didn't try too hard to be liked, and they were rude but not pushy, and they'd never beg. They were low maintenance, too, and they didn't need bones or toys or leashes or collars, and they could actually earn their keep if you had mice or rats, and they weren't always staring at you with big brown eyes, as if they expected you to drop whatever you were doing and pet them or talk to them or sneak them some smoky beef treats.

Cats weren't sloppy eaters, either, and their wagging tails didn't knock all the magazines off the coffee table, and they didn't run through piles of leaves you'd just freaking raked up, and they didn't shadow you when you trimmed the bushes, as if they were watching for freaking land mines or something, and they didn't bark or growl when the mail man or the meter reader or the gas guy came to the door, as if the house was under attack by a mob of angry mutants.

He'd never get it, the dog thing – he never had – because he'd seen it before – the fancy toys and the cushy beds and the expensive treats and the organic chow mix – while he and Amber and Aaron were fighting to survive. He'd never gotten it at all, why some strays were spoiled rotten, while others were left to fend for themselves; why some strays just got shuttled from shelter to shelter, while others ended up in actual homes.

It was all just a crap shoot, anyway, and they saw it in Peads all the time – the kids who were wanted and the kids who weren't, and it was all arbitrary as hell, and he'd say it was unfair - if fair was anything but another four letter F word.

Not that that mattered, anyway, because she bought him treats by the box, and spoke to him like he was an actual person, and bought him a rain coat and a silly yellow hat, and kept his picture on her cell phone, and had the vet on speed dial just in case, and it occurred to him the following afternoon, as Winston toddled eagerly behind him while he raked and bagged leaves, that some strays just got lucky.

* * *

><p>The first time he doesn't come home after his shift she reminds herself that surgical schedules change and that paper work piles up and that he's not that bad a driver and that it's not like he's supposed to call her when he'll be late, and it's not like she knows his schedule, exactly, and it's not even like there was much traffic at that hour, which made accidents statistically less likely, and it wasn't like she cared anyway, since she had Winston for company and he didn't hog the remote with ridiculously cheesy movies about busty alien mutants and radioactive fruit enslaving small Midwestern towns.<p>

The first time one of the nurses catches her staring – or accuses her of staring – her face burns bright red and she stammers that she was just trying to check the clock he was standing near. It wasn't like she was watching Alex – she wasn't – it was just that he was parked at the Nurses' station and filling in charts and wasn't even noticing the sassy, red headed nutritionist who was eying him from across the hall. It wasn't like the nutritionist was going to get anywhere, anyway, since he hated string beans and grimaced at spinach and ate stale pop tarts with chocolate milk for breakfast – after he'd fished the toys out of the Captain Crunch box – and really, as a nutritionist, she should have higher standards, professionally speaking.

The first time she speaks to her sister in nearly a week – her sister who works on 38th street, in New York City, and strolls down Broadway on a casual walk to lunch – she smiles and nods and rolls her eyes as she half listens to Dani rave about Neil. He's rich and tall and handsome – of course he is, because Dani's carefree and vivacious, and her unruly auburn curls flow over her shoulders – and they did it again and again the evening before, and she's expecting a ring on Valentine's Day.

Dani says it all so casually, as if it was just the natural course of events, which it probably was, if you were leggy and stacked, and tossed your flowing hair over your shoulder, and laughed at all his jokes, and could look into his eyes without stammering and turning beet red, and could do it like it was just something you just did every day, like brushing your teeth or mailing a letter.

The first time she hears from Cari in three days is the loudest in memory, since Cari is screeching and chattering and entirely too excited to speak coherently. It's still too early, technically, but she knows anyway: she's got her first choice match for Residency, and she's going to Mayo, and she's going to cure cancer. Of course she will, April imagines, and she'll do it while raising 2.4 perfect children, in a dream house like Meredith's, with the white picket fence, and the flower lined walkway, and a pure bred dog who fetches on cue and doesn't chew up shoes or work bags or rugs, or shed on the couch he's not even allowed on.

It all rattles through her mind, and she'd gripe to Beth – if Beth wasn't on assignment in Paris, and sending her photos of romantic cafes and men in berets and her apartment overlooking the Seine. She might complain to Jenny, instead, but Jenny would tell her it's all about the up-coming elections and that she'd feel better if she organized a voter registration drive at the hospital, or started badgering her congress people to do something about global warming.

It wasn't about environmental ethics or penguins' rights, though, and she couldn't tell Beth or Cari or Dani, anyway, because then she'd hear it all over again, about how she needed to get out more or she needed to be more confident or she needed to focus more on her career - or that she needed to work less hard – as if that wouldn't be great advice – if she was busty and blonde, or bubbly and vivacious, or optimistic and adventurous, or determined and committed – if she was anything like them.

The first time in weeks that she's not assigned to the pit Cristina directs her back to Hunt's service. It's a bus accident this time, more mangled kids, and its blood and gore and it's bizarrely… something… the adrenaline and the furor and the tension… and its three hours into an unscheduled second shift before she looks up and notices that he's watching from the gallery. It's about the kid on the table, she's sure, because he's focused on his Fellowship applications and Peads is crazy competitive and he'll need to handle pediatric trauma cases, too, if he wants to be double board certified.

It makes sense, really, that he watches her surgeries, and it's not like they don't all do that all the time, and it's not like it's anything unusual- to discuss cases with M&M diagrams on the coffee table - and it's not like it's anything different when Peads starts paging her regularly for consults, since trauma can be complicated to assess, and it's not like he's not smirking all the time, anyway, when she politely corrects one of the Peads Fellows weeks later, and it's not like she didn't know what she was talking about, and it wasn't a surprise when he backed her up, since, really, he never had any problem standing up to bullying senior doctors.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time she sees the ending of "Attack of the Killer Tomatoes" – which may well explain his irrational suspicion of vegetables – is entirely an accident. It might even have grossed her out, if she hadn't startled awake, slumped against him while Winston snored softly, draped across her feet. She freezes in place, sunk awkwardly into the curve of his body, and frantically calculates how to untangle herself without waking him, since it will be dawn in just a few hours.

It takes her nearly twenty minutes, and she imagines she holds her breath for most of it, and she scoots over to the other side of the couch as soon as she's able, and she draws her legs up underneath her as she wills her heart to stop beating wildly in her chest, and it occurs to her as her panic subsides that Winston has gnawed much of the faded carpeting around the edges, and that she'd better replace it, since she'd promised Meredith that she'd take care of things.

The first time she drags him along on an errand that doesn't involve food at all she just needs muscle. She'd promised Meredith she'd keep the house up, and they needed a new area carpet for the living room, and she needed help getting it home. She wasn't soliciting his opinions, wasn't expecting his opinions, and certainly wasn't anticipating his sudden insistence on a hideous plush shag rug– in puke green, in her studied medical opinion- just because it was "comfortable."

That was not going into Meredith's house, it just wasn't, and certainly not since she was paying for it herself, and yes the burnt orange one was even more cushy – and even more hideous – and she was too surprised to hear a word like "cushy" coming from his lips to make a clear headed decision and she absolutely put her foot down on a brownish monstrosity he was eagerly fondling and she was fairly sure she was winning until he grudgingly dragged in the muted geometric print she finally selected, and she realized too late that it was too small for the room and didn't quite go with the tile around the fireplace and was much too thin, and she cringed at the smug "told you so," that accompanied his latest insufferable smirk.

It was prefect, she insisted anyway, after he'd lugged the old one outside to the trash, because she wasn't going with the puke green or the burnt orange or the brownish atrocity and there were more important things then how the rug felt and she'd put her foot down on this, again, like she still did on doing the dirty dishes, or they'd be living in what looked like a swamp or a pumpkin patch or a… or a… or a plush dirt patch over run with crusty plates.

She was just being firm, like Meredith and Cristina had told her to be, when they first heard that Lexi and Jackson had moved out, and that she was living with… well… was sharing rent with him. It was just rent, and she'd just rolled her eyes when Cristina chortled that she'd never be as stubborn as he was, and Meredith had just smiled and reminded her that Alex was… complicated… which she already knew was code for impossible and infuriating, even if Meredith was his best friend, and she may have never done this before, but she still wasn't buying puke green carpet just because he thought it looked comfortable.

She wasn't getting rid of Winston, either, no matter how much Alex complained, and Winston was not a mangy fur ball – even if he did chew through a ratty old Iowa tee shirt – as if it wasn't about to unravel completely, anyway, and he could very well drag himself off the couch to dig a few more rows for her flower bulbs – since it wasn't like" Attack of the Killer Kumquats VIII" wouldn't be rebroadcast a few hours later, and it wasn't like he couldn't sweep up his own damn cereal crumbs, or just wait a few more days for the stupid toy to surface on its own, instead of digging through the box like a hyperactive five year old.

It wasn't like she couldn't be stubborn, either, and it wasn't like she had the patience to be all that accommodating, since accommodating had gotten her nowhere, and she'd just about had it, with Dani and her pefect job, with Beth and her perfect apartment, with Cari and her perfect residency, with Jenny and her perfectly infuriating commentary on April's life – on the bad luck and the bad choices, on the holding pattern she'd been trapped in, since Reed, since Philip, since the pills, since it had all come crashing down around her, whatever the hell it was.

It wasn't like he should be hogging the television remote all the time, either, and it wasn't like he'd paid for the freaking rug, and it wasn't like she wasn't a kick ass trauma surgeon, and whatever it was, it erupted all over again when she leaned over the couch to snatch the remote from him a week later, during an animated debate over their brackets for the March Madness basketball tournament.

It's survival of the fittest after that, just like on all the nature shows he watched – whenever the planet wasn't imperiled by big boobed Martian women in ridiculously tight space suits, and she learns too late that he's not ticklish at all, anywhere, and he learns too soon that she is, everywhere, and his arms snake around her as she giggles and squirms and curses him, and she's already jittery and fumbling and shaking and breathless when her lips meet his.

* * *

><p>He didn't get it, he didn't, that one minute she's going on and on about Ohio State and a two three defense- and how she's not replacing the freaking rug again, no matter what, even if that mangy mutt had started gnawing on it, too – and the next minute she's pinning him to the floor and her lips are on his and she's tugging at his shirt and reminding him that she's not a virgin.<p>

He has no idea what that means, since as far as he knows she's only ever done it with Stark – at least, that's what she'd said – and he has no idea what it could've been like with him and her clothes are mostly off before he remembers that she's sneaky and devious and this may just be another bid to grab the remote and put on some freaking chick flick.

She's tugging insistently and her lips are on his again, though, and his clothes follow hers and the damn dog reclaims his spot on the couch, yawning lazily, and it's freaking bizarre – doing it with a mangy mutt watching. He catches her eyes again and she's smirking and giggling and her fingers set to work and he gasps as he wonders what the hell Stark taught her about it and he's awkward and fumbling because it's different – the first time - when there might be a next time.

There usually isn't a next time and it usually doesn't matter and she's fumbling and eager and he gasps when she tugs too hard and winces slightly when she squeezes too tight and it's all a blur as they try to find a rhythm. He's trying to keep it simple and she's trying something more complicated and he's almost muttering something between clenched teeth until her hands and her lips wander…right… there… and a deep groan escapes him as it surges through his body.

His brain is swimming by then and she freaking wants to be on top – it figures – and she's already straddling him by the time he can take another sharp breath. His own hands move blindly and he's sure he hears her moan and gasp and he can feel it rippling through her and she's shrieking loud enough to send the dog flying off the couch and he'd smirk but she's … right… there… again… and it all goes black as another jolt of electricity courses through his body, his eyes rolling back in his head as another thunderous groan ripples through him.

* * *

><p>It should all come back to her, but it doesn't, and it should be less scary this time since it's not her first time, but it isn't, and she should remember how to do it, but she doesn't, and she shouldn't be so shaky or grabby, but she is, and she can barely even remember what freaking part of speech "it" is, anyway, and she just shivers when she meets a familiar smirk, and she remembers too late how to stifle her shrieks, and at least that part of it feels vaguely familiar.<p>

The first time she wakes beside him she feels it all over again, not the it that made her shriek hours before, but the panic rippling through her limbs as she struggled to stay perfectly still. He'd wake up if she jostled him, and she'd see it again, that smirk, and he knew all about it, all of it, and he'd think she was too loud or too fleshy or not bendy enough and she didn't have green blood or big boobs like all those hot alien women and they probably did it at the drop of a laser blaster and he'd probably smirk at them too.

It will start all over again, too, she's sure – the SGH grapevine – and people will know she's done it and the blood roars in her ears and her skin's all tingly – like stroke patients describe – and they'll all gossip about it like it's a sport and she remembers as he stirs sleepily beside her that "It" is another of his favorite science fiction movies.

That would seem laughably appropriate if she could possibly laugh and she stills suddenly because he's still wrapped around her, like that snake in Anaconda III, and it may be starting again since his arms are tugging her closer and she can feel it pressing against her thigh and a moan rises in her throat and its thundering through her again and she still can't remember what form of speech "it" is, exactly, and she's shrieking and shuddering and erupting inside again before she can review eleventh grade English in her mind.

* * *

><p>It settles around them nearly an hour later, the steely grey dusk streaming in through the windows as the television flickers quietly in the background. She's curling around him and sighing contentedly and her silky skin is still pouring across his and he'd loosen his grip but her hands trail…there…and…there… and he'd say something but another faint moan would just come out anyway, as he quivers in her grasp.<p>

She's doing it on purpose, he's sure, that thing with her fingers, and he'd shift away if he had any control over his own freaking body and he'd tickle her again just to even the score, if wave after wave of vaguely agonizing pleasure weren't coursing through him, and he'd grab a blanket from the couch if he weren't on the verge of melting completely into her hands.

She doesn't say a word, just smirks slyly as her fingers continue their curious travels, teasing and testing, and she startles abruptly as another gasp escapes him, and she giggles at his eager wide eyed nodding to continue, and his murmurs get deeper and more frequent as her hands sink more insistently into his soft flesh and he's quivering and moaning and trembling again and he'd mutter something by then but she'd finally found…just…the…right…

It was gathering again and he'd try to open his eyes but she'd found just the right speed, too, and he'd try to move but she was already engulfing him, again, and he'd tried to breathe but another sharp gasp tore through him, and it was all around him all over again, and she was moaning and shrieking and quivering in his grasp as he erupted again, and wave after wave pulsed through her, until the electric blur faded into a lazy intertwining of steady breathing and slowing heart beats and tangled limbs.

He pulled her closer, another soft moan echoing from her as his hands traced her body, and he could feel the rhythm of her heart against his chest, and the curves of her flesh lining his, and he wondered how long it would take her to look him in the eyes again, and if she'd regret it – doing it with him, doing it on that new rug she was so proud of, even if it had that bizarre print and was freaking uncomfortable – and if it was a good sign – since he'd never get what chicks thought about it – that she was sneakily checking out the basketball scores on the television as she curled sleepily in his arms.

It was all her idea, he'd remind her, if she had second thoughts – and it wasn't like anyone saw them but the dog, and he could easily be bribed to keep quite with a few bacon treats. It was all her fault, he noted, pulling a blanket from the couch and tugging it awkwardly around them as she settled into his chest. It was all her fault, he'd remind her, that they'd done it on the floor – in front of her freaking dog – and that they'd be stiff as hell in the morning, since she had to buy the most uncomfortable carpet in the galaxy – just because the geeky salesman trying to unload it told her was the latest style.

* * *

><p>It's an article, she remembers at lunch later the following afternoon – not the journal he's reading but the form of speech" it" is – and she wonders if they can all tell that she's done it again, and she fiddles with her yogurt as Yang as Meredith chatter about Dr. Torres' latest threesome and she cringes when they needle Alex about getting into that fray and she springs up abruptly when they ask her something about Owen's new E.R. protocol for elderly car accident victims and she flees before it can come up again.<p>

She's sure he'll tell them about it, anyway, about how they did it like rabbits – or aliens – in heat, about how it makes her whole body blush red right through her freckles, all of her freckles, about how she's insanely ticklish and wiggly and jiggly, about how it makes her limbs tremble and her voice shake, about how it still makes her jittery and breathless, about how he thought it was so much better with all those other women, who'd at least known how to do it.

It all rattles through her brain but she hears nothing about it from the nurses, no chortling, no stares, no commentary about how it was with him, until it finally all catches up with her that evening, and its quivering and trembling all over again, and it ends up with them under the kitchen table and it occurs to her that if she's going to end up on the grapevine again, anyway, at least she could maybe make it sound like she knew what she was doing, if they did it in more than one place.

She doesn't mention it over the next few weeks, would never mention it, and the first time they do it in the shower is the first time she keeps her eyes open with him –which, shampoo, water, bad idea – and she wonders over the next few weeks if she'll ever get the hang of it, especially when it's wet and slippery and footing is an issue – until she notices that she's starting to see why they all rave about it, when they talk about doing it in the on call rooms.

It weighs on her mind, anyway, and she drifts off to sleep before she realizes it, and it startles her awake the next morning, and she wonders why no one else ever mentions that waking up after it was like waking up wrapped in an Anaconda, and why the movies never showed that Anacondas were surprisingly comical looking from that angle, with their soft pouts, and surprisingly warm and smooth to the touch, and quivery, if you found just the right spots, even if they weren't ticklish at all, anywhere, and that they even sort of purred, if you lingered long enough.

The first time she kissed him in public was the first time she thought it was all over – since he was probably shocked, since they'd been keeping it quiet, and he blushed red when Meredith and Cristina teased him about it and he growled when the nurses giggled and she was sure he was avoiding her at lunch even if his name was on the board for a noon surgery.

She'd convinced herself - in the span of twenty long minutes listening to Cristina brag about her latest valve replacement - that he'd just disappear and it all played out in her head, over and over, until it erupted from her lips in one big burst. She was sure Cristina would never stop laughing until Meredith reminded her that Anacondas, while sometimes surprisingly shy, were omnivores, and could usually be coaxed out of hiding with a Snickers bar.

She offers the candy bar to him later that afternoon and he accepts it with a baffled shrug as he chatters about his exciting, hard core surgeries and it occurs to her that Meredith had been right about that, too – that he'd probably forgotten about it in the rush of his two artery repairs that morning and it occurs to her that she's in way over her head, even with a land animal, and that she's probably got the taxonomy about him all wrong, anyway, even if she had gotten an A in Advanced Zoology, back when she'd wanted to be a veterinarian – and work with exotic animals.

She's back on the SGH grapevine again, though, and rumor already has it a month later that she's done it with Karev in a scrub room and a supply closet and the Chief's office and the morgue – and that her screeching could wake the dead – as if the scrub rooms weren't too bright, as if the Chief's office wasn't too open with the slatted blinds, as if supply closets didn't still freak them both out, even if he'd never admit that, as if it wasn't too cold to do it in the morgue, and as if that wouldn't be just plain rude, to do it in front of people who were trying to rest in peace.

* * *

><p>He'd waited for it that first night, and the morning after, and the morning after that, the look in her eyes telling him she regretted it. He was sure it was coming, it always did. But she was trembling under his hands the next night and quivering against the shower tiles the morning after – and she was loud enough to wake the freaking the neighbors, so they'd never be able to do it at the hospital, not if she wanted to keep things quiet.<p>

It hadn't come the week after that, either, or the week after that, and it didn't come the next month, after he'd pointed out – again – that the rug in the den was freaking uncomfortable – and it didn't come weeks later, after he snickered at her chick flicks, and it didn't come the following month, when he dropped the dry ice from her Halloween decorations and it didn't come when he brought home the wrong dog food – as it the mangy mutt knew the freaking difference between Sizzling Steak Kibble and Gourmet Gibblets, as if the grocery store even needed three whole rows of dog food, anyway, and it didn't come after she lectured him about him contacting his family for the Thanksgiving holiday and it didn't come when he accidentally hung the lighted candy canes upside down on the porch.

It doesn't come that whole chilly fall, and he's not waiting for it that evening, since he's busy and distracted and awkwardly picking at his finger nails as the couple sitting across from him and Robbins rock in their chairs and wring their hands and stare at them wide eyed and frantic, as they review the neurological findings with them. Robbins is clearing her throat and her eyes dart nervously toward him, warning him to pipe down as she gropes for words.

She needs to tell it to them straight, he'd insisted already – that their eight year old son was dead the minute his head hit that tree, that his heart just didn't know enough to stop beating, without guidance from his brain, that it sucked but they couldn't fix it, that it sucked but they could do some good for some other kids, if they'd just sign the forms.

It wasn't like that, she'd hissed at him – and he knew that, it wasn't. But it wasn't doing the kid's mother any good, either, having her sit there crying about the presents sitting under the tree, already wrapped and labeled, when he was never going home again, when he was never going to open his eyes again, when everything he'd ever been had ended the second he hit that ice patch, and veered wildly, head long, into the towering Evergreen at the bottom of that hill.

He fidgeted uncomfortably, stared at his shoes, listened to the muffled voices around him, as Robbins tried to explain the unthinkable, to a couple who'd just been planning for one of those magical holidays people were always babbling about. It was over hours later, the discussions, and he'd removed the boy's vent himself, and it would be a totally different story three flights upstairs – where three more sets of parents would be sobbing for an entirely different reason, because Santa had come through, with organs, and it would be a Merry freaking Christmas for them the following week, if it all went well.

It was all dumb luck, sometimes, no matter what they did – who lived and who died – and it all rattled through his head as he skipped the 2:00 a.m. offerings in the cafeteria, and hopped the elevator to the sixth floor. It didn't even bother him anymore, he insisted – the elevator thing, the dumb luck that could make all the difference – and he wasn't expecting it to come that night either, as he pushed the on call room door open and crawled into the bed beside her.

He slid his arms around her, buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaled the familiar mix of strawberry shampoo and coconut hand lotion and exotic, high anti-oxidant vegetables that could only be hers, and listened to her breathe. It would come the following morning, he was sure, another reminder to turn the lighted candy canes upside down – or right side up, depending on how you looked at them – and it made no sense whatsoever, that a trauma surgeon who saw it every day, could still decorate all around it.

It didn't make sense at all, none of it, the elevators, the vents, the forms – the morgue coming to clean up a twelve year old who'd died on a sled, a week before Christmas – and it all clamored around in his head, like a pot nearly boiling over, until her soft murmurs drowned out the chaos, and her steady breathing slowed his racing heartbeat, and her body curved closer into him as he drifted off.

* * *

><p>The first time she notices him watching her surgery from the gallery on a late Tuesday afternoon – which isn't the first time he's watched her that day, a nosy scrub nurse points out to her – makes her stomach churn and her cheeks blush beneath her mask and her legs tremble. It's not that it's him, exactly, and it not that they're doing it, exactly, and it's not that the nurses know about it, exactly, and it's not like it makes her uncomfortable, since everyone else does it, apparently, and it keeps the on call rooms busy.<p>

It's just that she's used to being invisible and it's easier with the lights off – and the alarm clock's glowing numbers dimmed, and the curtains closed against the curious moonlight - and it's not like he hasn't seen her already, all of her, the nurses would no doubt snicker.

But it's almost like she'd never found her clothes again, after the first time they did it, and it was almost like he could see right through them anyway, and she wondered sometimes if maybe that was the real reason why she'd waited so long to do it the first time, and she wondered if that was just part of doing it, if maybe you just got used to it, or most people did, anyway, since it still unsettled her, how much harder it was to be invisible after it.

She dismissed those ideas immediately, because she wasn't the only one who wasn't doing it anymore, even if she was the last of her sisters to do it, even though she was the oldest, because people did it all over the hospital, whenever they could find a willing partner and a spare few minutes, because it was as common as washing your hands was in this place, because it was just what they all did, and what everyone talked about, and it wasn't like you'd know every weird thing about someone, just because you were doing it with them.

She repeats that to herself the following month, and again a month later, when she feels him watching her from across the lunch room again, as she gathers her salad and fruit. He'll tease her about her rabbit food, when she joins him and Meredith and Cristina. They'll snark on him about Peds, and on Cristina about the fire house, and on Meredith about her sisters-in-law.

They'll all talk about it, too, about how Meredith and Derek are still trying for a baby, about how Owen will have to have one himself, about how Alex can just bring one home from work, since he works for the Stork anyway. It actually makes her laugh, sometimes, and she makes her own awkward joke, about fire poles, and the conversation moves on to cases that afternoon and drinks at Joe's that night and it's just part of the gossipy ebb and flow and it all seems so ordinary when its wedged in between fruit cups and plastic spoons and Alex and Cristina squabbling over Meredith's left over French fries.

* * *

><p>He still hates it. It's part of the job and he'd say something but then Robbins would be babbling again about glitter and rainbows and freaking fairy dust and he just can't stand that, especially not now. He just nods and listens instead and he sees it churning in her eyes – the woman whose11 year old, Danny, had just run out of options.<p>

He'd stop running months before, maybe longer, long after his sandy hair fell out in clumps, long after he was bald and shivering and half his weight, long after his friends from the chemo group had gone home – or gone to their graves – long after uncomfortable family members had started to fear him, and strange new doctors started whispering outside his room, and he'd put it all together for himself, that sometimes there was nothing else they could do.

His mother didn't get that, would never get that – Alex gathered – certainly not in time, in time to stop dragging him through another round of futile treatments, and Danny just shook his head and smirked and rolled his eyes, as the frantic woman implored Robbins to get him into another clinical trial, to find a miracle cure, to keep fighting for him.

That wasn't how it worked, though, and Alex piped up only to have Robbins glare back at him. She'd told him to advocate for his young patients, and he was, and he did, since it pissed him off royally that they had no one else to do it for them – when their parents were losing their own shit – and they'd have this fight again and again until the woman got it, though maybe not in time for Danny to get the only thing he wanted: to go home, and die in peace, in his room with his fish tank and his posters and the soccer trophies he'd won years before, before he was down to one leg, before talk of a scholarship gave way to a blizzard of medical jargon.

He listed impatiently, shuffling his feet and interjecting pointedly, until Robbins circled her arm around the woman and led her into the hallway, motioning with her eyes for Alex to stay right where he was. He glanced back at his young patient, and caught the look in his eyes, too – that he got it, all of it, that he knew it was just a matter of time – less time then they'd imagined – and he wondered if that was the thing about Peads, that they got it, the kids, and they might believe in magic – like freaking Robbins – or super heroes - but they weren't delusional about medical miracles – and that they could take it, if you just gave it to them straight.

He got another lecture about his bedside manner later that afternoon, and he grumbled and stalked off to finish his charts, and he decided to stay the night, anyway, even if he wasn't on call like April. He watched two late surgeries, still muttering to himself, and tracked her down somewhere around three a.m., crawling into the bunk and wrapping his arms around her as he stared at the door, watching the eerie shadows of the night shift crawl across the tile floor.

It made no sense, really, that just over the past three days, he'd dealt with two abused foster kids who desperately needed parents, and one dying but desperately wanted kid who'd have been better off as a stray – if his parents could just let go – and it all rattled around in his brain, over and over, until his eyes fluttered shut and he sank into the steady rhythm of her breathing.

* * *

><p>The first time she'd ever woken beside him in an on call room startled her, because they hadn't done it at all that day. It had even taken her a moment, groggy and disoriented, to identify the arm draped around her, and a few minutes more, to turn over without waking him, and a few minutes more to quiet the wild fluttering in her chest. It would still be another item on the grapevine, she'd imagined, that they'd done it on the fourth floor, even if he'd just snored softly into her chest.<p>

She'd woken that way many times since – woken to find him coiled around her – and she just giggled as she shifted slowly, pulling him closer. It had been all over the hospital for months and months now, anyway, that they were doing it, and she wondered idly what the stories would be like, if it would hurt her reputation more if she was doing it with him, or still not doing it at all, if it would hurt his reputation more to be doing it with the invisible woman, or to not be doing it at all, in on call rooms at least, when he just slept peacefully in her arms.

She could mess up her hair, she imagined with a smirk, as she ran her fingers along his chilly arms; she could wrinkle her lab coat, she imagined, as she pulled a light blanket around him; she could hold her breath for a few minutes before she stepped out into the hall, so she'd looked flushed and flustered, she imagined, as he sighed quietly, settling closer into her; she could even make some noise, she imagined, giggling silently at his sleepy half smile.

It would be all over the hospital, anyway, she imagined, that they were in there for hours, that they came out staggering and dehydrated, that Karev had taught her a thing or two, that it was odd that they were doing it in an on call room, since - rumor had it - they'd already done it in a conference room and the pharmacy store room and even Operating Room 3.

It's all unavoidable, and it's like there's nowhere to hide, and it's already over-heated, too – the national network that links her sisters' commentary, after she'd finally admitted to them that she was doing it again, and braced for more lectures, about safe sex and body wash, about lingerie and where her hands should be, about rookie mistakes and advanced techniques. It doesn't even surprise her, this time, when Jenny sends frank, anatomically correct diagrams, along with a photo shopped note added in the margins, something about making him beg.

They ask her to send pictures of him, too, and to tell them what he's like; they ask if It's candles and dinners and flowers; if it's just for fun, or if it will lead to a ring, or if she's just doing it because they've been teasing her about it for years, about the romance novels she still reads sometimes and the dateless nights and how she always dresses to blend into the background.

It drives her to distraction, because its none of those things, because its bad movies and sticky cotton candy and half price basketball tickets and dirty glasses in the sink and warm arms wrapped around her on the couch; because its sloppy stacks of folded laundry and squabbles over carpeting and a purring, quivery Anaconda curled around her afterwards; because it's the fluttery feeling in her chest and his voice rippling through her and the way his eyes change color with his mood; because it's how empty the house feels when he's late, and how solid it feels when he's plopped beside he on the couch, snarking on her teams and rolling his eyes at her chick movies; because its random, wilted vegetables tuning up in the fridge, and neatly dug rows of bulbs, and the feeling in her hands as he watches over her surgeries, as if she's a rock star surgeon, too, and the go to chick in trauma.

It was supposed to feel different, she was sure, since it was a fantasy for Meredith and McDreamy, and a snark fest for Cristina and Owen. It was a permanent carnival for Dani and Neil, and a hunting expedition for Cari, who lusted after a senior Attending at Mayo; it was sheer entertainment for Beth and her many loves, and a career distraction for Jenny, who cross examined men the same way she did witnesses on the stand.

It was supposed to feel different, she was sure, because rumors swirled month after month, and she wished they'd tell her what it was, exactly, because all the rumors were always vague and giggly, about who was doing it with who, about when and how and where, and how loudly, about who was whose type, and who wasn't, and who was doing it anyway, as if it was all a spectator sport.

It was the lifeblood of the grapevine, but it didn't specify what it was, exactly, when you never actually did it in an on call room, when you just woke wrapped in an anaconda, when you just lay quietly, listening to him breath, when that was all it was sometimes, when he was too tired or she was too stressed, when you just couldn't pull your hands or your eyes away while he purred softly beside you, sleeping peacefully, when that was all that mattered, sometimes, though she had no idea how or why, except that it was probably better than the flushed pills he'd never mentioned or the busty mutant aliens at 3:00 a.m., neither of which – as far as she knew – had ever made it onto the grapevine themselves.


	4. Chapter 4

She's on the phone with one of them for over an hour, again, and he still can't keep all their names straight – whose doing some dude on the roof of the Empire State building, and which one got the kick ass residency slot at Mayo; whose in Peru, or Paris, or Prague – they never seem to know, exactly, and it's almost vaguely intriguing, that one of them might be a spy, or on the run from the government, and which one is the shark lawyer with the killer convertible.

She shows him pictures of them on the computer, and it's almost like a test – to see if he can keep all their names straight – as if the chick doing it at the Statue of Liberty doesn't change her freaking hair color every week, as if the lawyer isn't always wearing those huge sun glasses and the giant to hats to protect her from the sun – in freaking Cleveland – as if the chick at Mayo isn't usually behind a surgical mask, as if the spy would even want to be identified, really.

At least that part drives her crazy, when he makes up those stories about her sister the rogue double agent – just to bug her, and he really doesn't get it: Why she obsesses over what they say – about her hair and her clothes and her job and her stupid books – when they're always calling her for advice, anyway.

It's always her they call, it seems – when the dude in New York screws up, when the Yang wanna-be at Mayo doesn't get a choice assignment, when the lawyer loses a case, or the spy losses her luggage in Portugal – it's always her they call, and she's like the go to chick for sister crap in general, and he wonders why she doesn't get it – when she's wringing her hands over their comments on her make up or her alphabetizing hang-ups or her compulsive need to have the laundry folded into same height stacks.

It's not like they hadn't lived with her, he thought the following week – over hearing another of her phone therapy sessions, and it's not like they could have missed the seaweed drinks – for clear skin, she swears – or her cross listed to do lists; it's not like she wasn't predictable, he added under his breath, over-hearing her in full crisis management mode – when the dude in New York apparently did someone else on the Brooklyn Bridge, right during rush hour – and it wasn't like that wasn't who she was, the go to chick when all hell broke loss.

It made no sense, really – just like it made no sense when she stammered in front of the jackass senior resident from Ortho, when she totally had the situation under her control. It wasn't her fault, he told the guy later – that the patient was hopped up on drugs – and it wasn't her fault that he'd started thrashing and dislocated his own cast – and she'd done an awesome job just getting him diagnosed and patched up the first time – and it wasn't like he should've thrown her under the bus when Hunt finally got his ass down there, long after he might have been useful.

He'd never get that – why she sometimes put up with crap at the hospital – but still nagged him about dishes and crumbs and stray candy wrappers and creases in the towels – though, really, If they were clean and dry and put back where you could find them when they needed them, what more could she want, and really, ironing towels was total over kill, and it wasn't like they dried you any better if they were perfectly unlined and folded like it was some fancy hotel.

It wasn't like they didn't know all that about her, though – that she was neurotic and a neat freak and a health food nut and stubborn as hell and blew too much time on those chick movies and talked to freaking weeds and screamed like a banshee at basketball games and couldn't follow traffic directions to save her life and sometimes forgot to check for the specially marked cereal boxes – as if that wasn't the whole freaking point – and never, ever threw out a single greeting card, even from people she didn't like – and never, ever remembered to buy batteries for the remote – something he was sure was deliberate, since usually, she never ever forgot anything else, ever – since it was all right there on her check lists and spread sheets.

It wasn't like they didn't know all that, and it wasn't like they didn't keep calling – and it wasn't like she was anything like Amber, who'd tell him exactly what she thought of him, and rehearse every crime he ever committed, as if her whole life might have been better if not for him – and it wasn't like April was anything like that with her sisters, and it wasn't like she was blaming them for her problems – and it wasn't like she wouldn't drop everything to help them with theirs – so he just didn't get it, why they made her so damn self-conscious, as if she wasn't so much better, anyway, then a screw ball spy, or a Yang wanna be, or a shark lawyer or the chick whose dude was doing it with whoever else at Madison Square Garden – even if she did forget to buy replacement batteries for the television remote, entirely to bug him.

* * *

><p>The seventeenth time they watch an entire episode of Nature together – despite the apparent total absence of hot women herpetologists – she almost laughs out loud, as the mating habits of the Anaconda are detailed. It all looks surprisingly familiar – the frantic fray, the lazy curling afterwards, the nesting – minus the dirty dishes and the chocolate milk stained newspapers and the magic decoder rings from the cereal boxes. - but there are other resemblances, too, to the Grey wolves, which he and Meredith might have been raised by, to the spackled snow leopards, who revel in the chase, even to the fiercely loyal jackals, who defend their packs to the death.<p>

It occurs to her then that she hasn't spied herself, either, in the fauna sprawling across the screen, and she wonders if she'd count as a timid yellow hummingbird, too reticent to pursue what she wanted, or a wildly jealous swan. That would explain, at least, why she snapped at the two trainee nurses who were spending entirely too much too much debating the color of Alex's eyes, when they should have been reviewing sterilization procedures and check lists for post-op abdominal wounds.

It's stopped spreading like wild fire by then, anyway, the rumors that she's doing it with him, and its settled into old news, and she just rolls her eyes the first time she's back on Orto again, and Dr. Torres just smirks and wiggles her eyebrows and shakes her hips with a "you and Karev?" chortle and it all reminds her that he'll always know more about it then she does, and she still wonders, as they're setting a dislocated femur, if she's too loud or too stiff or too grabby or too fleshy or too flat chested or too uncoordinated in the shower or too creaky, since she refuses to do it on the too thin carpet that she spent too much money on and is too stubborn to admit that she still doesn't really like.

It's not like that, her sisters reassure her, and it's beyond humiliating, since they're all more experienced then her. Just watch his eyes, Beth insists, to see if he's having fun; just follow his hands, giggles Dani, that'll tell you what he likes about you; just listen to what he says, advises Cari; just relax, insists Jenny. Oh, and send pictures.

They just don't get it at all, though, since Beth is blonde and bubbly and always the center of male attention, and Dani's tall and busty and always laughing, and Cari is chatty and fun and can get anyone to talk about anything, even guys like Alex, probably, and Jenny – who should have been the odd one out in the family, technically, because she's out of order alphabetically and too sassy and opinionated for anyone's good –has had a boyfriend a week since she was basically three and tells everyone to relax because she's so hyper herself.

They just don't get it at all, that Alex's…Alex… that dinner can be cotton candy and potato chips, even if he is a doctor; that candles will never happen; that his fantasies involve over inflated Martian women in tight jump suits, and that he'd never even fork over his prized Flash Gordon magic decoder ring – fished months ago from a box of Fruity Sugar Puffs – which supposedly gives the wearer X-ray vision, and which would just compound the problem anyway, since she's sure he can already see right through her.

He can see right through her, she's sure – and it spooks her, it does, that he sees right through people – like he really does have one of those x-ray vision rings he digs out of the cereal that he shouldn't even be eating because, really, did he miss Nutrition 101 in med school.

He sees right through people, she reminds herself three weeks later, and it still freaks her out, but she finally just gives up hiding behind the neatly pressed and folded towels in the bathroom and the perfectly straightened comforter on the bed, since he's seen it all, anyway, and what he hasn't seen he's felt, and it's not like he hasn't noticed by now – the non Martian boobs – since he's snoring softly right into them again that morning, and it's not like he'd even need x-ray vision, anyway, since he was a surgeon, and would trust his hands more than his eyes.

He sees right through people, usually, she reminds herself through gritted teeth the following month, when she prods him to return Amber's terse message again, and again. It's not like she wants to get into the middle of it, and she gets it, she does – that the whole situation is horrible all around – but he just doesn't see it, that Amber obviously wants to reconnect with him, even if she's rude and sassy and impatient and it was completely uncalled for, the cracks she'd made about kiddie doctors in her message – about tuition for her upcoming semester.

Amber was just a kid, she tried to remind him, and it was only natural – that she was hurt and confused and angry and terrified and she got it, she did, that Amber was being impossible and unreasonable and demanding and basically a brat, but that didn't change it – that he could still help her now, that he was still her big brother, that she needed him, even if she couldn't say it.

He grumbles for days, and she tells him she gets it – that it sucks being the oldest, that it's very hard to like siblings sometimes, that it's frustrating when they blame it all on you, their break ups and their lost luggage and their blown assignments and their lost cases, that it's… annoying .. and she tries very hard not to say that it hurts- when they expect you to solve their problems or fix their lives, but that it still doesn't change it, that they're your sisters.

She tries not to push it, and she tries not to prod too hard, and she just lets it simmer – since that usually all it takes for him to get it – and she tries not to listen too hard when he finally calls Amber back. It's a terse conversation, basic information gets exchanged and she sees it in the mailbox the next morning, the check he'd written her, and she wishes it were easier all around for them but that was just how it was with sisters, sometimes, and you just couldn't rush it.

That's probably what she would have told Dani, too, after the whole latest Neil debacle – not to rush it. But Dani would just laugh if she offered that kind of advice, even if Dani expected her to listen, and she'd already changed the subject again, anyway, back to April and Alex again, and where that was going, and if she was having those fantasies again – like she'd had with Robert at first – about fairy tales and flowers and castles – and she wonders if her other sisters have discussed that among themselves, too, since it had been a running joke among them.

It was absurd, anyway, though, since Neil's behavior was worse, and Jenny couldn't keep a boyfriend to save her life, and Beth was all starry eyed about the guys in Panama, but they all talk to her, instead, like she's some pathetic damsel in distress still waiting for her knight in shining armor– as if one white knight hadn't been quite enough – as if Alex was anything like the guys in those stories their mother told them, as if he wasn't more like the fire breathing dragon, really, even if he did purr contentedly afterwards, his warm breath brushing her skin, even if he could usually be subdued – with a kiss, or a few soft strokes, or a Snickers bar.

It's not like that at all, she grumbles, pulling him closer, and kissing him gently, and smirking as he settles closer into her; it's not like that all, she smirks, tracing her hands along his spine as he sighs; it's not like that at all, she insists, rolling her eyes as he sinks into her chest with a few quiet snores. It's not like that, she'd tell them, though she's unsure what that means, either, even if she does know what form of speech that is, technically.

* * *

><p>She promised she was going just to look. She promised it was only because they were already in the area, anyway. She promised she had no intention of getting anything, and that it was just a quick stop on their way to Home Depot, to pick up a new rake and some washers for the leaky kitchen sink. She promised it'd take three minutes, tops, and that she could too control herself.<p>

It was a pack of lies and he knew it, and he groaned as she flung open the car door before he'd even come to a complete stop, and she was already hanging over the side of the enclosed pen by the time he'd parked and shoved his keys into his pocket.

One was mangier then the other, the yipping, yapping mutts that surrounded her, and they all eyed her like she was their new best friend – of course they did, because they were all little con artists and beggars, and she had sap written all over her – and she was already cooing to a red and white Winston clone by the time Alex had come up behind her, just in time to overhear the usual pitch about how he needed a new friend to play with.

That was absurd on more levels then Alex could count, since Winston was the laziest mutt on the planet, and Winston didn't move an inch from the couch unless it involved food or a direct threat to his life, and he could have rattled off another dozen reasons in under two minutes, if she wasn't already chattering with the staff worker at the shelter about how she'd just always wanted… whatever the hell type of dog it was that licking her face just then.

Alex just rolled his eyes as the guy retrieved the dog from the pen, and he just groaned as she got down on the ground with it, and he just sighed as the sob story came out, about how she was a stray, about how her name was Gracie, about how she was already house broken, and loved to play with Frisbees, about how she'd come in with her brother, Tobey, the over eager, sad faced, tail wagging mass of fur that wiggled happily at April from behind the wire fence.

It was a freaking set-up, the whole dam thing, and he just rolled his eyes again as April threw her arms around Gracie, and he just groaned again as the guy led Tobey out of the pen, and he just sighed as April scooped him up, too, in some kind of bizarre family reunion, and he just scowled when she reminded him sweetly that they were brother and sister.

It was wrong on so many levels, and low, and downright dirty – because they were strays, and they were siblings, and he couldn't possibly break them up, now, could he – and he would've admired her deviousness and her shameless manipulation – if it hadn't been aimed right at him and he just sighed and rolled his eyes and groaned again as the guy brought out the paperwork.

She was chattering happily by then and clutching two new leashes and assuring him they'd be her dogs, that he wouldn't have to do a thing – as if that had ever kept Winston from gnawing on his work bag or shedding on his jacket or following him around the yard while he trimmed the hedges, as if that would ever keep these other two from crawling on the couch with him, too, when he was just trying to watch a freaking a movie in peace.

She chattered about that the whole way home, while Gracie licked his neck and Tobey drooled on the back seat of the car, and really it was freaking absurd, and it made no freaking sense whatsoever, that they'd gone out for a new rake and some washers, and come home with two more furry speed bumps that they didn't need at all.

* * *

><p>The first time she almost trips on Alex on the bathroom floor he's slumped against the bath tub. She's fairly sure he's drunk, except that he's pale and shivering and plainly struggling not to vomit again. He's feverish, too, but he growls and snarls when she gets too close and staggers up before she can move and holes up in his old room, grumbling that he's fine.<p>

A few choice curse words rattle through her head as she returns downstairs and she'd make him something like chicken soup, but he'd just growl again, and she'd offer him water, but he'd just snarl that he's fine louder, and it occurs to her as she shrugs and turns on the television that this is yet another reason why she'd never have the patience for Peads.

She could tell them that, too, she imagines the following week, when he's back to work – after being "fine" for six days – she could tell the giggling nurses who flirt with him and speculate about his eyes and his arms and his lips – she could tell them that he's surly when he's "not sick," and grumpy and sarcastic when he's "not tired," and shivery and curt when he's "not cold." She could tell them that, too, that he's not self-conscious at all about the "cool" scar on his chest, which she still hesitates to touch when he's awake, and that he's prone to "not wincing" reflexively if her fingers go anywhere near it in the shower.

She wouldn't even get into it, either, about all the nagging it took to get him to hang the Halloween skeletons, as if they could clamber up into the trees by themselves, or about how he teased Winston and Gracie and Tobey with them, all those bones, or about how she had to hide the candy bags until the day before trick or treating – or mysterious, shadowy ghouls – seen only by him, apparently – would pick through them, or about how he wasn't much more help at Christmas, since he didn't even know which end of a candy cane was up, as far as she could tell.

She wouldn't get into any of it, though, she reminded herself, as she watched the young nurses following him with their eyes, and giggling as he returned the charts to their slots and walked off down the hall, and she wouldn't snap at them that it was briefs under scratchy suits and boxers with jeans and scrubs and only nothing with the soft, faded Iowa sweat pants he wore on his days off, something else she'd learned the first time they'd did it, and sort of liked, not that she'd ever admit it, or at least, not that she'd say it out loud.

She wouldn't get into any of it, she reminded herself, taking a few deep breaths and walking away briskly, since it would probably just seem petty or neurotic, if she mentioned that he snuck cheese doodles to Winston, when Winston whimpered and whined about the diet dog food, as if a doctor wouldn't know all about the importance of good triglyceride levels, and that he got cookie crumbs on her neatly pressed bed sheets, and never ironed anything himself.

She wouldn't get into any of it, though, she insisted, and she stops by Peads again hours later instead, and she catches a glimpse of him with a young patient, and she overhears Robbins and Bailey raving about him, and her face tinges red and she wonders if he has any idea that not all of the gossip about him is about who he's doing it with, and she wonders if that would matter to him, and if he still seriously believes that Bailey and Robbins buy any of it – that he's not about the kids, he's about the cool surgeries – and she wonders if he still buys it himself, and if it would matter to him, that she didn't buy it at all.

* * *

><p>He doesn't say it, he just doesn't, because that's just her, packing and re-packing – as if they're going on a Safari, and not a simple flight to Ohio – checking and re-checking their reservations, as if people don't go there every day, and interviewing and evaluating references from every dog kennel within a hundred yard radius, as if the mangy mutts need a freaking Club Med.<p>

It wouldn't make any difference, anyway, he reminds himself, to point out – again - that it really doesn't matter at all, if the kennel of choice offers doggy day care, or swimming pool play dates for schnauzers, or meditation for mutts, or organic bones for boxers – since Gracie won't even go outside in a light mist and is terrified of baths, and Tobey will eat anything that'll fit into his mouth, and if Winston got any more mellow, his pulse would stop entirely.

He mentions none of it, and he just nods, moderately baffled, as she delivers a blizzard of words: instructions about how to talk to her sister, the lawyer, and guidelines on how to handle the flirt and the photographer, and warnings about what to expect from the red head – warnings cut off abruptly when she swats him again for whistling and calling her hot in the family picture she keeps showing him, so that he can learn their names, – and panicked reminders not to say anything about the Browns to her father, and not to say anything about, well, it, to her sisters, and not to use the word "damn" – or anything worse – in front of her mother, and to eat whatever she serves, or April will never hear the end of it.

It all comes out amid a flurry of suitcases and dog bones and she packs each mangy mutt a back pack for their week at the kennel, and talks to them about schedules and menus like they're going off to a summer camp, and he just rolls his eyes and groans as Meredith and Cristina needle him the following day at lunch, when he asks Meredith to promise that she'll check up on the dogs while they're gone, just to shut April up.

The kennel's freaking ten minutes from the hospital, and it's not like Mere needs to do anything else, and it's not like she doesn't have two mutts of her own – pure bred red Irish Setters, she corrects him smugly – and it's not like he gives a rat's ass about the three Stooges, no matter what Mere says. It's just that April's freaked enough without having to worry about the mangy beggars getting fed or walked – or meditating – according to the schedule described in the glossy brochure April had picked up when she went to interview the kennel managers.

It was crazy, anyway, how she went on and on about her sisters, as if lawyers weren't nothing but trouble – breaking up people's families and dumping twelve year olds in juvie for trying to feed their kid siblings, as if Mayo was the only place in the country to do a kick ass oncology residency, as if anyone wanted to live in New York, anyway – with all the smog and the traffic and the mobs everywhere, as if all hot red heads weren't crazy, at least in his experience.

They'll hate him, anyway, he's sure – no matter what he says or does or eats – parents always do – and they'll love her regardless, because she's… April… because she cares for her patients and adopts strays in packs and would never break up a family, because she sends the dogs off with back packs – like kids going to camp – and implores the kennel to text her pictures of them daily – because she's smart and funny and she'll watch mutant vegetable movies, even if she snarks on him, and she's strong and even sneaky when she needs to be and she plants weeds and buys rugs and hums when she straightens the magazines on the coffee table and beams at him when he rocks a surgery, and she's… she's… she's… well, they just will, they just do, and he just doesn't get it at all, how she could think otherwise, when it was so freaking obvious.

* * *

><p>The first time they fly to Ohio for a visit a vague terror grips her, and stark premonitions occupy her mind: Her mother will hate him, her sisters will interrogate him, her father may kill him – and she wishes she could be invisible again when they meet her at the airport, and she gazes longingly at the departing planes rolling past the wide airport windows as she sheepishly retrieves her luggage, while he pales and squirms awkwardly in her mother's grasp.<p>

It's all worse then she imagined – because Dani regales him with tales of her exciting life in NY, working for the network that televises Knicks games, and chatty Cari pumps him with questions about Iowa and Peds and previous girl friends – she actually uses the word - and bubbly Beth bats her eyelashes at him and tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder – she just can't help herself, since male attention is like oxygen to her – and Jenny tells him flat out exactly what she thinks about health care reform and what he should do about it.

It all goes downhill from there, since her father hates every guy his daughters bring home on principle, and her mother chatters excitedly about "someday" hanging Christmas stockings by the fire for her grandchildren – her mother emphasizes this point with a dramatic sigh, while her sisters roll their eyes at each other – and her mother piles three vegetables on his plate – all of which he hates – and she half hopes for a meteor, or an empty plane, or the moon - to crash through the rambler's roof, anything to stop all the family cheer and holiday togetherness from sending him bolting out the door.

* * *

><p>It was basically what he expected –six crazy chicks, hen pecked father, not that he wouldn't have sympathized with the guy, if he hadn't been so surly, with the estrogen over load and all – smothering mother with the too tight apron strings and the decades old recipes and the neurotically neat house with the prissy white fence and the ceramic roosters on the shelf and the perfectly polished table ware and the lacy napkins and the freshly served up guilt trips.<p>

It was like one of those Norman Rockwell paintings on the calendars near the Nurses' station – or it would have been – if her pushy sister with the law degree hadn't been hell bent on telling him what doctors should do about health care, as if he had time to read policy manuals; if the hot red head hadn't kept flirting with him; if the stacked blonde from Paris hadn't told those racy jokes after the parents had gone to bed; if the chick from Mayo had ever stopped bragging, as if Mayo was the center of the medical universe, as if she was even a hard core surgeon, and not one of those over-hyped oncologists like Swender who just pushed meds all day.

It was about what he was expecting – it was five chicks giggling about stupid shit and gossiping about friends from high school and comparing hair styles and hand bags and trying to one up each other – on everything – and it still surprised him that April didn't stand up for herself more, since Cari wasn't even a surgeon, much less a go to chick in trauma, and Dani worked for the Knicks, who sucked, and all Beth did was take pictures all day like any other tourist – and big freaking deal that they were of Paris, since the only thing France ever added to the planet was French fries, which were cool, but over-hyped, too, and Jenny was just a typical loud mouthed lawyer with no idea what doctors did all day, anyway.

It was about what he was expecting with the parents, too – farmer Bill sizing him up sternly like one of the usual suspects on those crappy cop shows, and farm-ette Nancy with the flowery kitchen and the three flavors of lemonade and the clucking about grandkids, as if that wasn't just a matter of time with five chicks, and her gabbing about the nieces in Akron and the aunts in Dayton and the cousins in Cincinnati, as if anyone could keep track of that many names and that many pictures and that many relatives once removed without a scorecard.

It was what he was expecting and it was her, the old photos on the wall of the county fair and the neatly planted flower beds lining the long front porch; the homey living room with the giant plush sectional and the thick shag carpeting and the massive stone fire place and the huge front window with the frilly lace curtains; the enormous dining table and the over-flowing china cabinet and the permanent buzz of the gathering mob she called a family.

It was what he expected, the winding roads with the familiar silos and the clumps of bored cows; the churches dotting every corner – which was a little like Iowa, if you added in the waves of corn on your own; the barbecues in the expansive back yard and the games on the lawn and the chatter about milk prices and hats in Paris and med school ay Mayo and what's really wrong with the legal system in this country and the Knicks, though no one mentioned the Browns.

It was what he expected and it was boring as hell and he was going to claw right out of his skin if he didn't get away from the aunt or uncle – he couldn't quite tell, though he was stone sober – who kept babbling to him about the war, though which war the problem was hadn't exactly been specified. It was what he expected and it was driving him mad and he was on the verge of losing it when he felt her tugging on his arm and leading him to the pathway along the pond.

It gives them some distance from the mob and he can finally hear himself think and he notices he's finally breathing again – he suspects it may have been hours since the last time – and his heart beat is slowing and her hand's already slipped through his as she slides onto the wide white rail lining the gazebo, pulling him with her. She's still gripping his hand and she mutters something about it not being much longer and it sucks all of the air right out of his lungs again until he realizes in an instant that she doesn't mean them.

She doesn't mean them at all, as in her and him, and she doesn't mean it at all – as in, whatever they are, and she doesn't mean it as in – it – even if they have separate bedrooms for the week – she means it as in the family gathering which may swell to half the population of the state before it's over, and it as in the teeming mass of people that's making him claustrophobic and dizzy and possibly a raving insomniac again – though it's only been four days – and it as in the time she'll spend listening to her sisters brag about Paris and New York and Mayo and clerking for the next senator of… whatever the hell state Jenny terrorizes when she's working.

He supposes he could mention it to her, that they're all just jealous of her – because she's the go to chick in trauma, the hell with Mayo, and someone who actually helps people, to hell with the up-tight lawyer, and someone who actually saves lives – as opposed to say, taking pictures of rusty statues of famous dead people in Paris, and someone who works at a nationally ranked hospital, and not for the worst basketball team in the entire Eastern conference – even if Madison Square Garden would be cool to see and it's not like they'd refuse free tickets if Dani offered.

He could tell her all of that – he could tell her she's obviously her parents' favorite, even if they don't say it, since it's written all over them, their faces and their voices and how they beam at her when she's not looking – and how they glare at him. He could tell her she's obviously her sisters' favorite, too, since they only ever shut up for a second when she's talking, and they watch her eyes like hawks when they're bragging to her about their jobs and their apartments and their expensive designer shoes, and it's plain as hell that they're trying to impress her.

He could tell her all of that, and that she's kind of their hub – almost kind of like Mere, just not dark and twisty. But she's watching them anyway, with that shy smile, and he sort of gets it, too – that they're hers – even if they're annoying as hell, and he gets it, that they're her sisters, and he gets it, that she'd never do anything to risk breaking up a family – even if it was just telling the grating lawyer to shut up, or refusing an extra helping of spinach.

* * *

><p>It's another three lifetimes before they're safely back on the plane and there are no words and she's half sure he'll ask the stewardess to get him on a different flight – maybe even to a different city – and he doesn't say a thing until after his third drink and she's half expecting his first words to be good bye. But he just shakes his head and mutters something to himself about all chicks being crazy before he nods off in his seat – she's sure it's the first time he's slept since they landed in Ohio, since they'd had separate bedrooms – and she should probably defend her sisters more but … yeah… they could be… something.<p>

They pick up Winston and Gracie and Tobey from the kennel after the exhausting flight home and he's grumbling about spoiled flea bags and dog hair all over the back seat of the car and she just rolls her eyes, because it's really all about her crazy family and his back that stiffened during the flight and his hatred for crowded planes and the apparent inability of any kiosk in the Seattle airport to stock Snickers bar and his own inability to sleep well whenever they traveled anywhere.

It takes them a week, maybe two, to find any semblance of normal – and she can't quite tell who's more unsettled and they argue about the leaves he still hasn't raked up from the late fall and the porch he still hasn't resealed – when really, he's just grumpy because he's still worn out from her sisters' questions and her father's glares and her mother's insistence that he eat more vegetables – and she finally reminds him that they were keeping the place up for Meredith – and that finally gets him to drag out the rake and the recycling bags.

The reviews begin to roll in from across the country and she just shakes her head and imagines that she could put it all in a spread sheet, or make pie charts and graphs, or a power point presentation, as if that could explain whatever it was.

She almost giggles as she reads her sisters' detailed e-mails and texts about him – he's too quiet, he's very shy, he's brash and flirty, he's brooding and uncommunicative, he has beautiful eyes, he doesn't seem like the Peads type, he has a gorgeous voice, he's funny and smart, he's not liberal enough, he wears drab colors, he's gorgeous, period, he's not your type, he's a player, he'll probably be clingy, he's not tall enough, all the nurses will be after him, he doesn't read the NY Times, he slurps, he's a Scorpio, they're unpredictable, he's too reserved, he's too blunt, he left all the spinach on his plate, he knows nothing about modern art, his hands are warm, he's not what I was expecting – the only thing they all agree on, apparently.

They didn't know the half of it, either, she grumbles. They didn't know that he never threw the junk mail away when it piled up on the counter, or that he folded towels more sloppily then a three year old, or that his fingers were always sticky after they went to basketball games, or that he never, ever, put the fruit in her carefully labeled containers in the fridge, or that he was unusually sarcastic when he needed a sugar fix, or that he was impossibly stubborn about trying movies that didn't involve intergalactic apocalypses, or hot aliens, and patently prejudiced against vegetables, and too damn lazy to sweep up the crumbs after digging through cereal boxes for magic decoder rings.

They didn't know the half of it, she snorted, glancing out the kitchen window as she watched Gracie and Tobey charging through the pile of leaves he was trying to rake up. They had no idea that he couldn't stick to a grocery list to save his life, that he snuck the mangy mutts treats when he thought she wasn't looking, as if they weren't fat enough, that he never cleared the lint out of the dryer, and never stopped grumbling about the rug in the den – as if that green shag monstrosity he'd wanted was ever going to happen – and never put the canned goods in alphabetical order in the panty when they got home from the grocery store, even though that part had been highlighted on the chore wheel for years, in bright orange ink.

They didn't know the half of it, she smirked, watching as he tossed Gracie a Frisbee – just to get her out of the way, he'd insist if she mentioned it, as if she'd ever buy that – because he still swore that he was just in Peads for the cool surgeries, the cool surgeries he rocked to sleep at two a.m., when he was sure no one was watching, and he still swore that he hated the mangy mutts, who followed him everywhere, eagerly awaiting the treats he'd deny giving them, and he still swore he wasn't looking for the specially marked cereal boxes with the Flash Gordon toys when they went to the store, as if he'd ever read a food label for actual nutritional value.

They didn't know the half of it, she smirked again later that evening – setting her novel aside as he crawled into the bed beside her – because he snarked about knights in shining armor and snickered at the chick lit she read and got cookie crumbs on her neatly pressed sheets.

They didn't know the half of, she insisted, her fingers trailing idly over his chest, routing a delicate path around a long healed scar, because it all simmered beneath the surface – and it was always there, even when he couldn't say it – when he was watching her surgeries and shoveling her car from the snow and toting home wilted vegetables, when he was buying half priced movie tickets and tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her closer, when he was hanging her Halloween decorations and snarking on her basketball team and kissing her deeply, when he was bring home Triple Fudge Ripple ice cream despite her explicit instructions not to and sliding his arms around her and making her shake and shriek, again and again, when he was smirking and sighing and melting into her hands, and settling in for the night.

They didn't know the half, she insisted an hour later, stroking him gently as he curled lazily around her with a deep, hypnotic murmur, because he still made her heart flutter and her limbs tremble and her breath catch in her throat, even on the nights when they hadn't done it at all.

They didn't know the half of it, she insisted, as he nuzzled sleepily into her neck, because he made her feel needed and he made her feel special – even if she wasn't anything like her sisters, or like Meredith or Cristina - and he made her feel wanted – even if she wasn't a big boobed Martian, and even if she ate too much ice cream - and he made her feel like a rock star and he made her feel like it didn't really matter – if there were a few cookie crumbs on her neatly pressed sheets.

* * *

><p>It was just a freaking weed, something he'd dug up and tossed aside to make space for the pointy purple flowers she'd bought to plant along the walkway. It was ridiculous, taking out some weeds just to stick new ones in – new ones that went for $5.99 a piece plus tax, and the stupid path just led to the bird feeder, anyway, as if those moochers would notice or care, and he wouldn't have had any part in it if she hadn't brought home that pie with the cool whip.<p>

It was a total bribe and it was sneaky and manipulative and it was even worse that she did it with that maniacal cackle, practically waving the carton under his nose as she pointed sternly to the shovel. It wasn't like there weren't a ton more weeds just like it in the yard, either – or at least, it wasn't like there wouldn't be a ton more – and it wasn't like this one was impressive even by weed standard, and it certainly didn't need its own "spot" no matter what she said.

It got one anyway, though, right above the kitchen sink, and she bought it its own little pot, after insisting that it's favorite color was blue, and she bought it weed food and special dirt and little pokey things with minerals to add to the dirt, and she talked to it every morning as if it might answer back, and he just rolled his eyes and grabbed a glass of milk as she pondered names for it and he just grabbed his pie and the newspaper and went into the den when she decided it might like to listen to the afternoon news broadcast, as if weeds even had ears.

It was pointless to argue, though, and she could throw away her money on designer dirt all she wanted as long as the pie kept coming, and it would be just like it was with the neighbor's three legged cat, anyway, the cat she bought treats for, or the free loading robins and sparrows who chirped their heads off in the yard every morning – gathering around the bird feeder at 5 a.m., like regular commuters - or the squirrels that she bought pecans for – because pecans had more Omega-3's then peanuts, apparently, and were better for their little arteries.

It was pointless, anyway, since there was no reasoning with chick logic, and it was pointless anyway, because she was giggling beside him on the couch later that evening, and snarking on his movies, and it was pointless, anyway, because she was curled around him afterward again hours later, sighing softly into his chest, and it was pointless anyway, because her soft strokes took a wide berth around his scars, and it was pointless, anyway, because she was kissing him again before she drifted off to sleep, and it was pointless, anyway, because she was breathing so steadily and burrowing into the curve of his body and pulling him right along with her.

It was nothing like what he expected, when they'd done it the first time, since he'd done it before, more times than he could count, and he'd always known better than to trust it. It could make you see things, the shimmer of her hair, and it could make you hear things, the rhythm of her heartbeat, and it could make you feel things, the curious wandering of her hands, and it could make you believe things that weren't there, the way she looked at you when she told you that you were a Peads rock star, and it could even make you think it might be different this time, the way she slid her arms around you when she got home, even if you'd left three dirty glasses in the sink, and it could all make you crazy, if you weren't careful.

It could make them do things, too, he reminded himself, it could make them fakes or frauds or liars, he'd heard the girls talking about that at lunch lots of the time, laughing and giggling and cackling like banshees as they reenacted their fake dramas, so the stupid guy would think he was doing it right when really they just wanted him to roll over and go to sleep so that they could finish reading their cheesy books or doing their freaking nails.

It could all make you believe things that weren't so – and it was all as natural as breathing, believing things that just weren't so, he'd learned that when he was five, six, tops – and it could make you think you were something you weren't, a duck or a rock star or one of those white knights on the covers of those books she always keep on her nightstand or a guy who lugged home twenty pounds of designer dirt, just because it was muddling his mind and messing with his thinking and making him hungry for key lime pie with cool whip.

* * *

><p>She hated it from day one. She let him know about it, too, and no matter what he said, her frustration with it had to do nothing with the cheese doodles on Winston's breath, or the tell-tale orange powder on his muzzle, when he was already too heavy anyway, and a couch potato, and when she'd been spending $12.64 a month extra plus tax on organic diet dog food.<p>

It had nothing to do with that. It was impractical, and impulsive, and he hadn't thought it through at all, and he hadn't even asked her what she thought, before buying a brand new Audi Roadster, the first month they began their Fellowships. She could have told him it only got average mileage, and that it didn't have the newest phase two side air bags, and that it wasn't the safest car in its category, according to Consumer Reports Magazine, and that its previous two model years had reported brake problems and defects in the CD changer.

He didn't care about any of that, though. Of course not, she grumbled, rolling her eyes as they rode in to work together, as he babbled about its maximum speed – as if they weren't stuck in traffic and going 10 mph – and it leather seats, and its shiny chrome instrument panel – as if that was going to do him any good if he got blind-sided, and as if, she reminded him pointedly, she wouldn't know these things, being a trauma surgeon and all.

He didn't care about any of that, though. It was sleek and smooth and it didn't break down and it got approving glances from the other doctors in the parking lot and he fondled it when he washed it, like he was thinking of doing it with the freaking thing, and it didn't even seem to register with him, that it would've been much more sensible to buy a sturdy, solid Volvo, or a nice reliable Subaru, or something that might actually ride well on ice and snow, and certainly something less expensive, since they were still paying off their med school loans.

It didn't register with him, though – not at all, she grumbled the next week – that they'd need to pay for the roof repairs that month; it didn't make a dent the next week either, her growing barrage of complaints, and by week four they were riding in to work in separate cars – the high cost of gas notwithstanding – and by week five they were barely speaking at lunch, as Meredith and Cristina chattered around them, and she almost let him have it – right there in the cafeteria the following week – except that she wasn't sure what she wanted, exactly, since it wasn't like the car was going anywhere now, or why she was so angry, since it wasn't her job to supervise his spending if he insisted on acting like a hyper-active five year old in a toy store.

* * *

><p>They take her car to Iowa the next time they go. It's less expensive to fuel, she reminds him repeatedly, and it has four-wheel drive, she insists – as if there was even an ant hill in Iowa, much less a mountain range – and it's safer, she repeats, and he just zones out as she babbles about multi zone side air bags and footnoted safety reports.<p>

It's as bad as he remembers, anyway – the dreary psychiatric hospital with the vacant eyed patients, the cramped little farm house with the surly sister and the endless list of things that needed fixing – and he's hot and grumpy and exhausted by the time they return, and he's sure she lectured clear through Wyoming about whatever she thought he should do with Amber, or for Amber, or about Amber, as if Amber wasn't still reminding him every chance she got about what he'd already not done for her, or not been for her, or about what he just wasn't – period.

It simmers for weeks afterward, and he just groans when he sees the new cage on the counter, complete with two furry rodents sniffing at him, and a box of hamster food. It's just for a week or two, she swears, because one of the nurses was moving, and she couldn't take her son's pets along. It would only take her a week or two, April promised, before she found them a new home, and they were quiet, and she'd just put them up in his old room, next to his trophies, and they'd be no trouble.

It was all a freaking lie, because they already had names – and she already had that look – and it was already Noah's Ark that they were forking over big bucks to re-roof, and it was ridiculous that she could grumble about him buying something practical like a car, while she was spending $12.64 a month extra just for diet dog food that Winston didn't even like, and who knew how much the hell else for gourmet, organic fish food – for the gold fish who were "just visiting" - and feline delight treats for the three legged cat down the street and bird bells and squirrel nuts and squeaky toys and fancy pots for the weeds lining the windowsill over the kitchen sink, before she'd even up and started her freaking shelter for homeless hamsters.

It was ridiculous, he reminded himself, rooting through the pantry, and smirking as he tossed a gold fish cracker into the fish bowl. She hated when he did that, and when he called them cannibals, and he just smirked when she walked into the kitchen and glowered at him, because it wasn't like they didn't eat the damn things, anyway – even if they were made of cheddar cheese – and it wasn't like he was clogging their little arteries, no matter what she said.

It simmered the next week, too, and the week after, and he just started waiting again, for the other shoe to drop, for a sheet of paper to be slipped in his locker – with instructions about where to ship her zoo – for the door to slam and her car to pull away.

He was sure it was coming, it always did, because they always expected things. He never knew what, until it was too late, and he wondered if that was why she watched those chick movies, and kept those stupid romance novels by her nightstand, as if they had anything to do with reality, as if it didn't always end badly, no matter what the dudes and the chicks on the covers looked like.


	5. Chapter 5

It burns her still, weeks later, that he just doesn't get it, that it's not just a car, it's, it's… she's not sure what, exactly, but it is. Whatever it is, it shouldn't be a freaking trophy – a car – it should be a safe way to get from point A to point B. It should be efficient and reliable, and it shouldn't attract the attention of giggly young nurses, and he should have asked her about it, since it didn't even have enough room in the back for all the dogs, and their claws would rip the fine leather, anyway, and it just wasn't the type of car for their… for them.

It simmers like a slow cooker, and she reminds herself that it's not their car, it's his, and she reminds herself that he'd laugh at her and roll his eyes with that smirk if she called Winston and everyone else their family, since technically they were all hers, a point she'd impressed on him just that morning, as she was breath checking Winston for cheese doodles again.

At least she didn't have to dust it, she told herself, that particular trophy, and it occurs to her that she doesn't get it – the whole trophy thing, period – and why they still sit on the windowsill in his old room. It's not like she keeps her school awards around the house, or the art prize she won in the tenth grade, or the soccer trophy she got for perfect attendance at practice, which were all stashed safely at her parents' house, where they belonged.

She never got that either, though, the whole jock thing, and she was happy to sit on the bench and keep detailed, foot noted records for the coach; she still didn't get the radioactive fruit movies, either, or his refusal to alphabetize the soup cans, or his compulsive need to compete with Cristina over everything, or his insistence on jogging even in ten degree weather, or his apparent inability to notice cereal crumbs anywhere, or his demented claims of cannibalism – when he feeds the gold fish those crackers, which should not be eaten by anyone over age seven, anyway, even if that someone is in Peads – or his reluctance to talk about his family, as if she hadn't already seen it all for herself, anyway.

She didn't get it, and that simmered, too. She didn't get him, really, even if it wasn't nearly so scary, now, most of it, even doing it, even if they sometimes did it with cool whip, which, to be fair, made it even better, even if she would never have thought of it herself.

* * *

><p>It buzzes the following week, the grapevine that he knows runs directly from her to all of her screwy sisters. She's the hub, he gets that, and he still wonders if she ever notices it – how they all look to her when she talks, how they all listen to her advice, how they all come to her, about dudes and jobs and what they should and shouldn't tell their mother.<p>

He doubts she gets it, and he mentions something about it the next time they visit Ohio, but it probably gets lost, because they're doing it again: looking and laughing and giggling, most likely at him. He's seen that all before from the lunchroom at the hospital. He's heard how chicks talk – about all of it – and he's sure they're weighing in on what she should do about it, about whatever it is that they have – or had – before she'd started wondering if she could do it any longer, which she probably had already, since it was inevitable.

It rattles through his mind the whole trip, and it keeps him awake for four days straight, and he finally drops off on the plane. He's been expecting it, been waiting for it, been bracing for it, and he imagines it's coming after they return. It doesn't come that rainy evening, and it doesn't come the following gray morning, and it doesn't come the day after when they return to work, and he decides not to mention it, that she's riding in with him that morning.

She does it the next morning, too, and the next – after they do it in the shower – and it's almost like it was in the beginning but not quite, and he can't put his finger on it – what's changed – and he wonders vaguely if it's finally happening to him, that he's losing his mind like Aaron, or if it's the calm before the storm that's been brewing, and if he'll actually be ready for it, since it always comes in the end, the chick going, and it's just a matter of time.

* * *

><p>It's always the same, she reminds herself, dropping into her childhood bed for the evening. They gather in Ohio for her mother's annual 4th of July picnic, the whole family, and it all reminds her of all the time she'd spent with Dr. Wyatt. They'd hate the comparison, all of them, her super accomplished sisters, who were just so infuriatingly… them.<p>

She couldn't help it, though, because Beth would be bemoaning all the travel her job involved, as if being a travel photographer shouldn't have tipped her off to that one, and Dani would be asking her what she thought of Neil, again – if he'd be a good husband, if he'd ever get along with their father, and Cari would want advice on surviving residency, as if she didn't know full well what to do, once she actually got over herself and opened her eyes, and Jenny would be griping about men in general, as if April could ever help her there.

It wasn't even like she could do anything, since Paris just wasn't anywhere near Ohio and Neil would always be sarcastic and a little annoying, and Cari would just have to work harder if she wanted to stand out, and Jenny, well, Jenny just left her speechless, and she wondered why she was somehow responsible for them, even if she was the oldest, and when it would end, since, really, Jenny's issues alone could've kept Wyatt busy scribbling in her notes for months.

It's her fate, her mother always said, because she was the oldest and the most organized and the most responsible, and she wasn't flighty like Beth, or indecisive like Dani, and she'd always had to work hard – unlike Cari, who'd never even had to study until med school, and wasn't taking that well at all – and she'd never been strident and high strung like Jenny, who'd never settle for being a type A personality if a type A plus was available.

She accepts it, too, she reminds herself, as she steals away from the hubbub for a moment, and watches serenely from the old gazebo. She'd played there as a kid, they all had, and they loved it, making up stories about their futures, about where they'd live and what they'd be and who they'd be with and the things they'd have, expensive clothes and exotic jewelry and the pretty perfumes they saw in the magazines, always advertised on those little scented cardboard cards.

It startled her, really, and she glanced over to where Alex was standing, talking with her uncles from Cleveland – about the Browns, she was sure, much to her father's displeasure – and she wondered what he'd wanted when he was a kid, in that cramped farm house, and what he'd dreamed of, when he was moving from place to place, and if he ever imagined he'd be who he was, a skilled Peads surgeon with crazy friends and a windowsill full of old trophies, with awful taste in movies and a great sense of humor, with limited patience and gorgeous eyes, with an impossible stubborn streak and warm hands and… and an over-priced, impractical car.

It might have been one of his fantasies, she thought with a smirk, running her fingers over the faded wooden railing of the gazebo, where she'd planned to house the pet giraffe she'd asked Santa for when she was five; it might have been something he dreamed about, a flashy car, like the little models he still dug out of the cereal boxes – when decoder rings were sold out -back when he was stealing food for his siblings; it might have been something that motivated him, when he was running and lifting weights and earning his scholarship; it might have helped drive him to medical school, since there certainly weren't many people like him there.

Not that she was anything like that, she reminded herself. She was no snob, and she hated it when her sisters went on about it: when Dani sniffed that he didn't read the right New York newspapers, and Beth pointed out that he didn't even like traveling; when Cari snarked on Peads, like Cristina, and Jenny dismissed him because he didn't vote.

She wasn't like that, and she hated it when they did it to her, too: when Beth teased her about waiting so long, and Dani told her she'd never do it if she didn't dress more like her; when Cari bragged about Mayo's ranking, which would always be higher than Seattle Grace's, and Jenny drove up in her flashy red convertible.

It was like the grapevine back at the hospital, chattering incessantly, and it had been like that her whole life, and it would never stop – since she'd always be too much or too little of whatever they were talking about – and it sort of didn't matter what she did, anyway, since she'd be on it regardless, and it wasn't her fault if they didn't like it: that she wasn't the type to do it with just anybody, and that Alex would just never be good at small talk that didn't involve sports or medicine or ten foot tall Martian women with inflated boobs.

It runs through her mind as more feedback flows in, the week after they return to Seattle – about her hair and his eating habits, about her specialty and his listening skills, about her work schedule and his unfamiliarity with Halloween traditions. It flows out from her this time, too, though, about Beth's whining and Cari's bragging; about Neil's name dropping and Dani's wedding plans; about how she doesn't spoil Alex, no matter what they say, and about Jenny's new meds for ADHD, which were long over-due even if she does resist the urge to say 'I told you so.'

It all sprawls across the country, medical advice for Jenny and wedding song advice for Dani; career advice for Beth, and a motivational speech/kick in the butt for Cari. It bubbles at a low simmer, and it occurs to her that he's probably right, that they look to her even if they don't admit it, and she almost tells them in a mass text that this seals it, that she is the go to chick in trauma, even if the trauma isn't medical, strictly speaking, even if it involves flower selection or warnings about side effects or tips for preventing jet lag or a stern reminder that residency isn't supposed to be easy, especially if you want to be a go to chick in anything surgical.

She almost tells them that, but it's a sort of an inside joke between her and Alex, and she almost retorts again that she doesn't spoil him that much, well, except when… except that… except that it's complicated, since it's not like he'd ever admit that he ever needed anyone or anything, since it made him invincible, she smirked – rolling her eyes as she pictured the scars that still made him uneasy – and it wasn't like he could admit any of that and still be hard core, and that's what it was all about – the decoder rings and the silly movies and the Snickers bars and the late hours in the NICU, rocking his cool surgeries to sleep – being hard core.

* * *

><p>He spotted it almost immediately, the four bottles of cool whip in the fridge. She must have had a coupon, he imagined, or brought home some mangy beast that liked it; it could be a bribe or a trap, too, he reminded himself: she might want him to do something, or stop doing something; she might even make him regret it, that he'd finally shown her what he'd had in mind the first time he'd suggested it, that they do it with cool whip.<p>

It could have been any or all of those things, and it freezes him in front of the refrigerator, and she sneaks up behind him, sliding her arms around him before he can move. He tries to say something, but it starts before he can he stop it – chick movie speak – and she's babbling about finally getting it, though she doesn't say what it is, and about not being a bubbly, hyperactive big boobed Martian – which he already pretty much knew, since she was a neurotic, stubborn neat freak from Ohio, with passive aggressive tendencies, and a compulsive need to organize cereal boxes and cleaning supplies and the crap she brought home to keep her zoo running.

It could have been any of those things, since he had no idea what it was, but she was pushing him out the back door before he knew it, and grabbing the garden hose, and he was sure he was going to get it – for whatever it was he'd done or hadn't done – when she grabbed a bucket and some soap and started rinsing off his car. It didn't even need to be washed, and he could have pointed that out, but she'd already turned the water on him, too, and she was laughing and snarking by the time he'd grabbed it from her and soaked her, too, and they were both dripping and sudsy by the time they'd finished with the car, and they would've done it right there in the driveway, judging from her giggling – and that look – if the mangy mutts and the neighbor's annoying kids and the moocher birds and the squirrels with the cholesterol issues weren't all buzzing around them like a freaking gallery audience.

They take it inside, and she doesn't say anything about it this time – the soapy footprints he tracks through the house – and she's tugging him upstairs before he knows it, and she wants to do it in the shower again, which, they're already basically clean but still, he gets it – she's a neat freak – and it doesn't even matter just then, that it's lavender shampoo, again, since she probably did get it on sale, and they'd have to save money to pay for the roof repairs and the driveway repaving, and it sort of all just blurred together in his mind as her hands wandered, and it sort of didn't seem to matter to her just then that he still didn't get it – whatever it was – since whatever it was, he hoped it wouldn't stop.

* * *

><p>She was finally getting the hang of it, she teased him, even though it was still wet and slippery and he always grumbled when she used lavender shampoo instead of strawberry – and she was sure this was entirely because the scent of strawberry reminded him of cool whip and cake and high fructose corn syrup, three of his favorite food groups, and it was distracting sometimes, when he did that with his hands while she was still trying to rinse the conditioner from her hair.<p>

It had actually been less scary, she remembered, as she toweled off afterwards – the first time they'd done it in the shower – because at least she'd had all the steam from the hot water to hide behind. It had been different their very first time, when they'd done it on her geometric print rug, right in front of Winston. That had been mortifying, she remembered with a shudder as she tugged the towel more closely around her, and she was sure they'd scarred him for life, even if he had just sprawled serenely on the couch the whole time, waiting patiently for a biscuit.

That had been her first time since Robert, too – or Philip – and she'd been sure it would be like her first time ever all over again – well, except that she was sure Alex wasn't married, since she'd seen his bitchy ex-wife tear off in a huff – but it certainly wasn't anything like his first time and she'd been sure the moment she woke afterward that she'd regret it, that it would put her back on the grapevine all over again, that she'd be that April again, the one who didn't know what she was doing and had no business doing it with anyone, let alone him.

It wasn't like that, though, she remembered as they crawled into bed, and he hadn't said a word about it to anyone until she'd kissed him in front of the Nurses' station. He hadn't even grumbled all that much when she fumbled, she recalled as he settled sleepily into her, and it wasn't like she'd known what she was doing, and it had taken her a bit to learn that she should do more of… that, she giggled, as he sighed deeply in his sleep, and do that more slowly, she smirked, as he stretched lazily beneath her fingers, again, and that she should never, ever do that again, she remembered with a grimace, closing her hands reflexively around him as she remembered the gasp that had followed, definitely not a good gasp, she could tell – even way back then – definitely not a gasp she ever wanted to hear again, ever, definitely a gasp that imprinted upon her firmly, never, ever to squeeze there, not even a little bit, not at all.

She never had done it again, though, not that, and he never seemed to mind her curious poking and prodding otherwise, and he just smirked when she occasionally startled – since sometimes it was unpredictable, even when it wasn't wet and slippery – and he didn't seem to mind her hands anywhere, as long as she kept a wide berth around his scars, and that was fair, really, as long as he kept the tickling to a minimum, and they stayed dressed in front of Winston - and Gracie and Tobey – because really, she might be loud and shrieky and grabby, which he seemed to like, anyway – but she was no exhibitionist, and certainly not a dog-corrupting pervert.

It didn't seem to bother him, anyway, that they didn't do it on that rug anymore – since he'd never liked it, as he reminded her often - and that she wasn't a big boobed Martian woman, with giant implants courtesy of Sloan. That didn't bother him, either, she imagined, since he couldn't keep his hands off them when they did it in the shower, and he was breathing quietly into them at the moment, as he slept peacefully nuzzled into her chest.

It was distracting, sometimes, she reminded herself, rolling her eyes as she watched him doze, that she'd think about it at work, in the cafeteria or while watching one of his surgeries, that she could almost feel his body curled around hers, could almost feel the heat of his breath skimming over her skin, in a way that made her shiver right there at the lunch table, in a way that forced her to push it out of her mind, and to get a grip on it, and to reminded herself that it was probably like the heated breath that came from the fire breathing dragons in the fairy tales she'd read as a kid or the romance novels she still kept by her bedside table.

It was probably more like that, she reminded herself forcefully the next afternoon, as her heart fluttered and her limbs trembled and wave after wave of that familiar ache rippled through her body as he sat beside her at lunch, snarking with Cristina. It was definitely more like that, probably, she insisted – and all the heated breath was probably coming from the barbecued potato chips he'd swiped from Cristina's tray, she insisted, grabbing her iced green tea and rolling her eyes again as he and Cristina squabbled over Meredith's extra chicken nuggets.

She was getting the hang of it, though, all of it, and she didn't raise eyebrows anymore as she dug into her salad and she just bragged right back – about her crazy cool trauma surgery that morning, when Cristina crowed about her latest transplant, and she just laughed, too, when they snarked on Alex about Peads, since that's really who they were, and she got that, since she had four sisters – and she just smirked smugly when Owen paged her, because she was the go to chick in the Emergency Room.

She was getting the hang of it, all of it, and she wouldn't be distracted, she wouldn't, and she wouldn't have those feelings again, when she spied Alex watching her surgery from the gallery later that afternoon. She wouldn't go all wobbly in the knees, and she wouldn't feel his hands on her hips or his breath on her chest – because that could wait until that evening – and she'd be a kick ass trauma surgeon until then, and the go to chick for major trauma, because she hadn't been invisible April in a while, and really, she hadn't cared.

* * *

><p>It was the last thing he needed, after another exhausting ride back from Iowa, after another round of meetings with psychiatrists and debates over medication lists and arguments with Amber about jobs and college and why he'd left her behind - as if he could have just up and taken her to medical school with him, as if he could've afforded to bring her to Seattle on an intern's salary back then, as if he hadn't barely been able to afford his freaking crappy car that kept breaking down, as if he ever could ever have been some freaking knight in shining armor.<p>

It was the last thing he'd needed – and their stay in his mother's house was almost as awkward as the first one, though at least Amber had been more friendly to April this time, even if she was still pissed at him. It had been April's idea, anyway, to come along, again, and he'd remind her of that if she said anything, while he made phone calls and read pill bottles and struggled to fix the back door. He'd definitely remind her it had been her idea, as if she had nothing better to do than to spend her vacation in this hell hole, as if she had nowhere better to go, like the beach, or the actual Seattle zoo – not the branch office she was running - or to Ohio, as if she really needed another corn shaped Iowa key chain that lit up like a flash light.

It had been her idea, he'd remind her if she said anything, though she hadn't complained, really, about the hours they'd spent at the psychiatric facility, and she hadn't griped about the dusty little farm house, which was nothing like the freaking palace in Ohio, and she'd just sort of smirked when she ran across the few pictures his mother had of him and Amber and Aaron when he was a kid, before they'd been taken away by the social workers, and he'd only got two or three lectures, about what he should do and what he should be and how it was all about having patience and helping Amber now, as if he'd ever been any help to her in the first place.

At least her lectures had stopped at the state line, though, and settled into a stony silence, rippling across the fields of grain as they drove, as she made notations on the neatly folded map she carried, about places she'd like to stop at the next time – as if this would be a regular route – and fiddled with the car radio, as if they really needed to listen to local reports about corn prices in Sioux City or hog auctions in Ames or discount tractor repair at Ferguson's on 5th and Main, two blocks up from the Dairy Queen, and just across from the 24 hour Wal-Mart.

It was the last thing they'd needed, the last thing she should have agreed to right before they left – in exchange for a week of free dog and squirrel and hamster and weed and bird baby-sitting from the neighbors across the street – and he didn't want to hear it, about how the three legged cat had had five beautiful kittens, and he didn't believe it for a second, that the three mangy mutts would welcome a new addition – a point April babbled about cheerfully – and he didn't want anything to do with it, the tiny clump of grey and white striped fur with the giant green eyes that crawled into his lap the night they got back, purring loudly as he channel surfed for sci-fi movies at 3:00 a.m.

* * *

><p>It was too late, anyway, she told him, as she deftly sliced watermelon and cantaloupe sections and asked him to grab the plates. She'd already invited the new neighbors from next door, the ones with the 8 year old triplets who were always asking to come over and play with the dogs, and she'd had to invite Meredith and her family, because it was a picnic, and technically a picnic at Meredith's house, and she'd had to invite Cristina and Owen, because Owen was her boss and Cristina, well – well, they all sort of came as a set – and she had to invite the neighbors from the other side, too, since they'd see the party anyway, and they had given them Sadie.<p>

It didn't matter what he said, anyway, since Sadie was too a pretty cat, and she certainly didn't have fleas, and it was not annoying that she was so freaking friendly she seemed to think she was one of the dogs, climbing all over people who were just trying to watch the sports news in peace – no matter what he said – and he could complain all he wanted but she was not tearing up the photo she'd taken of Sadie sleeping sprawled beside him in their bed after he'd worked a thirty six hour shift, even if he would probably strangle her if anyone ever saw it.

It was too late, anyway, and Meredith was already out back with Dr. Shepherd and their adorable adopted daughters – now two and four years old, and Owen and Cristina were already arguing over horse shoes, and the Tomzak triplets were already playing Frisbee with Gracie and Tobey, while Winston lay lazily near the grill, waiting for the hot dog that April knew Alex would slip him – because he thought it was vaguely like cannibalism and funny, apparently – and it wasn't like Alex couldn't mix up another batch of iced tea and bring out some more cups from the pantry, since everything was in alphabetical order in there, anyway.

It wasn't like she hadn't bought extra cool whip, either – and they could even use it afterwards, she teased him, if he'd just play nice – and it wasn't like he'd ever turn down junk food, or any chance to do it with cool whip – and it was distracting her again, as she put the finishing touches on her huge fruit salad, the feelings that rippled through her as he slid his arms around her from behind and teasingly kissed her neck, before grabbing an ice cube from the pitcher and sliding it down her shirt, pointing out that she seemed to need it as he fled the room, laughing.

It was entirely too late, she imagined later that afternoon, as she watched him arguing with one of the Tomzak triplets about limited edition Flash Gordon rings, and how to throw a Frisbee to Gracie to really show off her vertical leap – not that he ever did that himself, of course, she echoed his usual denials, rolling her eyes, since Gracie was just a mangy mutt – because her heart was fluttering and her legs were trembling and she just kept glancing his way.

It was not too late, she corrected herself later, she'd just gotten distracted because he was holding Meredith's two year old as she rooted through her baby bag, digging out a container of strained peas to re-heat, to Alex's apparent dismay – judging by the grimace –at Meredith's insistence that her daughter will learn to love vegetables.

She never thinks about it – she doesn't - because he's grumpy and impatient and hot headed and could live on cookies and popcorn – and Snickers bars – and it would just mean twice as many crumbs on the rug that she still didn't like – and she never thought about it, she didn't, that he wasn't just in Peds for all the cool surgeries.

She never thought about it, she reminded herself again the next week, when she watched him scoop up a terrified three year old in the Emergency Room, and calm her right down, and she certainly didn't think about it later that warm, summery evening, listening to all the children playing in the yard next door as she lay quietly wrapped In his arms, his heart beating steadily beneath her ear as he dozed beneath her, sprawled in their lightly swaying hammock.

She never thought about it the following week, either, when the five-year old with the bright red hair threw up on her in the E.R, and she never thought about it days later, when Alex came home with two new Cyclone Series Super Soakers – one for her, too, he insisted seriously, since they wouldn't be out-gunned – by the eight year olds next door, and she was sure she'd never think of it a few days later, after the water balloons came flying over the fence anyway, even if they were armed to the teeth, and she and Alex defend their prized hammock vigorously.

It was absurd, anyway, to think about it, she imagined the next day – even if he had been right, apparently, since the Super Soakers had stopped the water balloon barrage - - not that she supported militarism or anything, though it did seem to bring a fragile peace in the summer's Water Wars - since it wasn't like that with them, whatever it was. It must just have been the full moon and the stirring breeze instead, she insisted to herself later that week, burrowing closer into him as the hammock swayed gently, well, that, and whatever he was planning to do with that cool whip this time.

She wasn't thinking about it weeks later, either – though it would've been a good excuse – and she just frowned at the mirror instead, poking her fingers into her flabby hips. It was entirely his fault, she was sure, since he was the one bringing home the Triple Fudge Marshmallow ice cream for her, which called her name every evening, and he was the one who hid cheese doodles in the pantry – stored under "R," as if she wouldn't notice the enormous neon orange bag if she wasn't looking under "C," and he was the one who started it with the cool whip.

It was all his fault, and she was going to do something about it, and it had nothing to do with Beth's disapproving glances or Jenny's blunt comments about it being ten pounds at least, or Cari's smug reminder that she was a doctor and should be a good example for her patients – as if trauma victims were really all that interested in how much she was starting to look like aunt Edna, and Dani's remarks about what Neil would think of her if she'd packed on the weight.

It had nothing to do with that either, she insisted to herself – with the pretty young nurses who eyed Alex over and the steady stream of super models who breezed in and out of Mark Sloan's office – as if life wasn't unfair enough – and the Barbie sized Martian women he watched on those ridiculous SyFy movies he watched, which misrepresented vegetables and women alike.

It had nothing to do with any of that, it was all about health and aerobic capacity and it wasn't like it would hurt her any, to join him on one of his early morning runs, and another, and then another, and it was all his doing, anyway, that he sprained his knee trying to over-take her on the last stretch up their block – and, seriously, did he not expect the garbage he ate to catch up with him eventually – and it might have given her shin splints and made her vaguely nauseous but it didn't stop her one bit from scaling the steps to their house, pumping her fists in the air in triumph and crowing that she "told you so," as he crumpled on the side walk gasping for air.

It wasn't like he would've let her help him, anyway, and it wasn't like it wasn't his stupid idea to crawl up the stairs on his ass, as far as she could tell, and it wasn't like he had to be so insanely competitive about everything – and it was his own damn fault if he couldn't deal with being beaten by a girl – and it wasn't like it wasn't his own damn fault, that his knee was swollen to three times its normal size and probably throbbing in pain – judging by his agonized grimace as he grumbled that he was freaking fine – and he could say it all he wanted to, that it wasn't a big deal, but he certainly couldn't operate with his knee like that, not when he couldn't even stand on it.

He was "freaking fine" the next day, too, as he slumped on the couch with his arms crossed over his chest, and he was "freaking fine" the next evening, too, as he scowled at the vegan pizza she'd order, and he was "freaking fine" when he'd pushed her hands away when she tried to examine it – after snarling something about not needing any freaking pain pills – and he was freaking fine as he lingered downstairs until he was sure she'd fallen asleep, before dragging up the steps amid a series of suppressed grunts.

He was "freaking fine" his first day back at the hospital, too, and he just brushed it all off, the curious glances and whispered questions, and it was like he didn't get it at all, that whatever the grapevine came up with would be worse if he just didn't admit it from the start, how he'd come to develop such a pronounced limp in the first place.

* * *

><p>"So… sex injury?" Cristina chortled, eying him smugly as she ate her salad.<p>

"Cristina," Meredith corrected, giggling as she watched Alex's face redden.

"Shove it, Yang," he grumbled, digging into the salad April had placed in front of him, as if he couldn't even get his own freaking lunch.

"We were jogging," April piped up quickly, and it was the last thing he needed, April coming to his rescue, and it just drove him crazy – when she called it jogging, which it just wasn't, it was running, and he could hear it already, all the details she'd spill as she went on about – about how she'd beaten him to the stairs – as if his new running shoes hadn't been too tight, as if the sidewalk hadn't been freaking slippery, as if the whole thing wasn't a freaking fluke.

"Getting old, Karev?" Bailey smirked later that afternoon, and it figured, as if she wasn't the one pushing him to pursue a more senior appointment in Peads.

"Ankle biter attack?" Robbins chirped as she skated up to him, snagging the chart he'd been reading, and it figured, that Mary freaking Poppins would throw it back in his face, everything he'd said about Peads before he'd decided to specialize in it himself.

"Day care accident?" Yang prodded again, later that evening, and it freaking figured, that he'd been in the nursery just then, holding one of his patients, as she breezed in to check on a heart repair she'd done on a three year old.

It freaking figured, that Mere went Neuro and Yang went Cardio – as if those were anywhere near as hard core as Peads – and that it never registered with them at all, that Peads was way more competitive than either of those specialties, statistically speaking, and that there'd only even been four Fellowships in the whole freaking state when he'd applied, and that he'd been selected from hundreds of applicants, because of all the cool surgeries he'd done while they were running their mouths off about brain surgery and heart transplants, as if he couldn't do both of those and more besides, on tinier bodies with trickier medical problems.

It freaking figured, he grumbled, and he just ignored it all – the curious glances and the smirks and the snickers – and he couldn't care less, if April told them that she'd dusted him and left him sprawled on the street, while she ran inside to call her freaking sisters and get the word out, and he didn't give a crap – he didn't – about whether she left it all out of the story, the parts about how he'd worked a sixteen hour shift the day before, and about how he'd been freaking starving for the last mile anyway, since she'd eaten all of his cheese doodles.

It was all her fault, anyway, he imagined the following evening, since it was her idea to join him on his runs, and it was her idea to race, and it was her idea to bet a pizza on the outcome – as if vegan pizza wasn't a complete oxymoron – and it was her fault for being so competitive, as if she didn't see it at all, that she had to win every ribbon and every award and every race, just to beat out her sisters, who seriously, had nothing to do with people running in Seattle, anyway.

It was all her fault, he grumbled, scowling at his knee again as he struggled out of the shower and dragged on his sweat pants, and it was all her fault, he muttered, as he scooted down the steps on his ass, again, and it was all her fault, he insisted, as he searched the channels for something to watch, and it was all her idea – he reminded her – as she pulled out the Monopoly Board, again, and challenged him to a re-match.

It was like she couldn't help herself, he thought with a smirk, and it was gnawing at her, he was sure – how soundly he'd beaten her the day before – and it had probably kept her up all night, because she was just that bad a loser, and she'd probably spent the whole day plotting her new strategy – in between random traumas – and it just grated on him, her cackling and taunting and trash talking as he picked up the dice for his first turn.

It figured too, he sighed nearly an hour later, that he'd landed on her priciest property, and it figured that he already owed her money from his previous hotel investments, and it was all a freaking plot to begin with, he imagined – her leading him to sprain his knee, just so he'd have to play board games with her, since it wasn't like he could even move – and it just figured, that she'd make those gloating noises again as she greedily fingered her millions.

It wasn't even like it was even play money to her, he imagined – since she was dancing around on the coffee tail like she'd seriously hit some Mega-million Lotto – and it figured that she was whooping and chortling again – about leaving him broke and homeless – while she jumped up and down like a demented cheerleader chanting "I beat you! I beat you! I beat you!"

It didn't make it any better, either, when she dropped back down onto the floor beside him, and it didn't help at all, that she was giggling and beaming at him as she swept her hair from her face, and it was still cheating – the sound of her laughter and the scent of her shampoo and the sway of her hips as she rolled over to pick up a stray game piece – and it was obviously all's fair in war, as far as she was concerned, and it was always war with her – any game – and it always worked, anyway, tickling her right… there, which always reduced her evil cackling to a kind of hiccupping, shrieking, squirming, giggling gasp.

* * *

><p>She'd beat him fair and square, no matter how he'd tell it later –about how she loaded the dice or raided the bank or used M&amp;M's as extra hotels – as if it was her fault that her real estate empire had expanded so much they'd run out of game pieces for it, as she marched toward her decisive victory – and she wasn't going to lose it, now, she just wasn't, and it wasn't like it wasn't his own fault, anyway, that he was wearing those ratty old Iowa Hawkeye sweat pants with the flimsy ties, and that he'd probably left his boxers on the bathroom floor again.<p>

It was his own fault, anyway, that he'd hurt his knee – even if it was freaking fine – and it was his own fault for buying up those cheap properties early in the game, as if that was ever a smart investment, and it was his own fault that he was such a sore loser, and he'd started it with the tickling, and it was his own fault – she muttered through gritted teeth – as she rolled him over and pinned him to the geometric print rug he still hated, sliding the Iowa gold and black fleece from his hips before he knew it, as her own fingers went to work.

She was sure she'd hear about it later, too – about how he couldn't have helped it, about how his "freaking fine" knee had mysteriously prevented him from moving quickly enough, about how he was freaking "all state, baby" in wrestling, and had never been pinned in a match, ever – never mind by a girl - about how it was cheating, what she was doing with her hands and her tongue, as he shuddered beneath her, erupting with a deep, thundering groan.

She didn't want to hear it, either, about how he'd been too tired to concentrate on the game, even if he hadn't been sleeping well since his perfectly fine knee hurt, and she didn't want to hear it, about how the aching stiffness in his back had distracted him, since he'd been walking with a limp – on his perfectly fine knee – and sitting on the "world's least comfortable" carpet as she raced around the game board, and she didn't want to hear it, about how it was "just a game," since there was no such thing for him, given how psychotically competitive he was.

She didn't want to hear it, either, that she was "wasting good M&M's," since that was why she'd started jogging in the first place – because he ate too much junk food – and she didn't want to hear it, that he couldn't "get much leverage" given his knee – which was freaking fine – and she didn't want to hear it, that she "looked totally hot" when she was rolling those dice like a "Vegas con woman," because she'd beat him fair and square – no matter what he'd say about it later – and she still had some jogging to do, to out run aunt Edna's hips.

She didn't want to hear it, either, the deep, contented murmurs that rippled through him, as her fingers unknotted the lumpy muscles in his lower back, and she didn't want to hear it, the deep sighs that followed, as her hands traced lazily along his sides, and she didn't want to hear it, the quiet snores that escaped him, as he curled sleepily into her, and she didn't want to hear it, as she pulled a puffy blanket from the couch down around them – that this just meant "they were tied" – and she waited a few moments before tugging him closer and gently pressing her lips to his forehead and gleefully whispering "I beat you."


	6. Chapter 6

Alex woke early the next morning, smirking as he pulled April closer while she slept, and just shrugging as Winston wagged his tail and eyed him hopefully from the couch, obviously waiting for his morning cheese doodles. He'd take it back, too, what he'd thought once upon a time – about cat's not being pushy – since Sadie was purring loudly as she brushed her face against his, plainly plying him for her Tuna Delight treats, while Gracie and Tobey snored peacefully by the flickering fireplace across the room, as the sunrise streamed in through the wide windows.

It hadn't been what he'd expected. even after their first time, that he'd wake years later with her still settled peacefully in his arms, her warm, silky skin wrapped snugly around his, as her auburn hair spilled over him, tickling his shoulder as she snored quietly into his chest.

It hadn't been what he'd expected at all, their first time – that they'd do it on that crappy rug in the den, right before the tip off to March Madness, that they'd do it at all, really – that she'd do it in the shower, once she figured out the footing – he was sure she'd had a checklist running in her mind the first few times, though he was sure she'd deny it – that she'd even do it with cool whip, once he'd showed her the basic idea, that she'd start adding cool whip to the shopping list regularly, and scoping out coupons, though she swore it was just puffed up sugar.

It hadn't been what he expected at all, the zoo and the cross referenced pantry, the soup she'd made for him after he'd had the flu, complete with goldfish crackers – even if she did grimace at them – the neatly stacked laundry on his dresser and the little Snickers bar she always had in her purse, right next to the dog treats, the color coded maps she always toted on their trips to Iowa, and the way she'd snapped at Amber during their latest visit – the last time she'd been snarking on about him leaving for medical school, again – the way she stood up to her sisters, the last time they'd gone to Ohio, and reprimanded that annoying intern in the ER, who'd waited three hours to page her, even though she was the go to chick in Trauma – as she'd informed him bluntly – and corrected a giggling young nurse who was obviously distracting her, the last time they'd worked a car accident together in the Pit.

It hadn't been what he'd expected at all, the way she beamed at him when she watched his surgeries, and laughed at his jokes – except the ones about cannibals, and seriously, that was just chicks for you – and the way she snarked on his movies, and wrestled him for the remote, and the way her lips met his the night before, like they had the first time, and the way it all just coursed right through him – the sheen of her hair and the faint hint of strawberries, the perfume she always wore – from the little square bottle that always sat on her dresser, right next to her stuffed giraffe – and the feel of her skin, the rhythm of her breathing beside him and the steadiness of her touch and the way she could maneuver whatever she wanted from Yang, and make Yang think it was all her idea in the first place.

It wasn't what he'd expected at all – that she'd make him mad without driving him mad, that she'd make him crazy without being crazy – that he could live with neatly labeled fruit bins and neurotically organized pantries and dresser drawers that had all the paired socks lined up in the same direction and meowing striped fur balls laying on him while he was just trying to watch Sports Center and hulking stuffed giraffes smiling happily at him from across the room amid a steel grey dawn, that he could live with all of it, if only… if only…

He didn't want to think about it, never wanted to think about, because the minute you thought about it, the minute you saw it all in front of you, it vanished from right beneath your hands. He didn't want to think about it, and he just pulled her closer as she snored softly into his chest, and he tried not to notice it, again, the shimmer of her hair or the scent of her perfume or the feel of her body or the sleepy shy smile, as she burrowed closer into him with a soft sigh.

He didn't want to think about it, he didn't want to say it, he didn't even want it whispered about on the freaking grape vines – the one that snaked around Seattle Grace or the one that spread across the globe, wherever her screwy sisters were – because he didn't believe in luck but he did believe in curses, and he didn't believe in all that crap about things happening for a reason but he did believe in fate, and he didn't believe in whining about it since it did no good to gripe about it, anyway, about how it never worked out for guys like him.

He'd known that in the beginning, anyway, since whenever he'd thought it could be different it had always turned out the same, and it was one definition of insanity – to keep trying the same things, and expect different results – and it would always eat at him, the genes he shared with his mother and his brother and his father – because sometimes that seemed like it made it all inevitable, that it would claim him, too, eventually, the crazy that even the pills couldn't fix.

He wondered if she got that, too, since she'd seen it all up close – the pill bottles and the restraints and the vacant eyed patients in the psych wards, and the little white farm house which reeked of it all – though it hadn't seemed to rattle her, even if there were no neat check lists for it, and she still had her Iowa corn key chain – which still light up – and it wasn't like she could really disappear overnight, since she had her whole zoo and all, and the giant stuffed giraffe alone would take up half her car, even if her jeep did have four-wheel drive, and it wasn't like it puzzled him as much as it used to – even though he still didn't get it – that she was still there beside him, murmuring softly as he brushed faint wisps of cool whip from her hair.

* * *

><p>The first time they have a free weekend in months, two months later, she catches herself staring out the kitchen window as she rinses out her coffee cup.<p>

He's finally bagged up the last of the fall leaves, just in time for spring, and he's finishing the seal on the back porch and her eyes follow him back into the house and it starts all over again, the fluttery feeling in her chest, the nervous churning in her stomach, the slight tremor in her fingers – undetectable to anyone but a surgeon – the electric tingling running down her legs.

It crackles through her as she settles beside him on the couch and it's another "attack of mutant fruit" movies that evening and she reminds him for the millionth time that it is biologically impossible for celery to grow jointed legs and she rolls her eyes as her head sinks into his chest and she hears his familiar heart beat and she feels the warmth radiating from his body and she catches the scent of raked leaves and hard ware stores and fresh breezes and Snickers bars which will always be just his and it occurs to her – as giant, glowering tomatoes roll inexplicably through Manhattan – that she really needs to change out the rug in the living room for something thicker and more plush, even if she'll never hear the end of it.

It takes her another month to convince herself, and another to say the words, and another to find a rug that isn't too flowery, or too green, or too burnt orange. She rules out all animal prints on principle, and leaves count as flowers as far as he's concerned, and wave prints make him sea sick, and she's not allowing any rug that sheds that much into the house – and she insists they leave Winston's or Sadie's or anybody else's shedding out of the debate, especially the fish, since, really - and she nods happily as he finally drags the winner into the house, unrolling the muted traditional print as she straightens up the coffee table.

She never will hear the end of it, she's sure, and she braces for it the first time they do it on the plush new carpet. But all the furniture moving and lifting and rug rolling has apparently tired him out – even if she was the one who rolled up the packaging materials for the recycling truck, and polished all the furniture before he'd moved it back into place - and he's already snoring softly into her chest when it occurs to her that it's the first time she's ever done it in front of a roaring fire place, and that it goes well with the surround tiles – the pattern in the carpet.

It wasn't what she expected, really, for her very first time beside a roaring fire place, since the stories always made it sound so glamorous or so magical or so exotic or so special or so, so romantic. The plots were always different, though, she acknowledged, and they never really covered the squabbling in the department store that went with the actual selection of the rug in front of said fire place, or the impossibly stubborn dashing hero – who was quite possibly color blind, and had no apparent interest in the rug's style as long as it was comfortable, judging from his inexplicable fondness for brown and orange shags – or the lingering debate about just how practical convertible Roadsters were in Seattle anyway, all things considered.

The books left out a lot of things, she decided, trailing her fingers over him with a smirk, since she'd never read anything about how doing it by a roaring fireplace also involved the sharp scent of packing products and furniture polish, and a stray dog bone digging into her thigh, and at least fifteen minutes spent kneading the aching stiffness from his lower back, since really, he reminded her sleepily, he wasn't a freaking moving crew, and the damn thing was heavy.

He did have a point, though, she admitted, sinking her fingers deeper into his muscles, and she wondered with a giggle if maybe she should write a book, too, about what it was really like to do it in front of a roaring fireplace – and a bored Corgi, and a wide-eyed striped fur ball, and whoever else was around – about what it was really like after he'd hauled in a bulky rug and moved heavy furniture around and finally caught his breath, after he'd dissolved into her fingers with a chorus of deep sleepy moans, as she worked carefully around any lingering scars.

She'd have to add all that, too, though – which would sort of defeat the purpose – since the scars were still a secret, technically, even from her, and he'd hate it if anyone knew about the soft murmurs that escaped him whenever she'd been in the right spot long enough, or how he just unraveled completely, whenever her fingers wandered right… there… or there… and definitely there, she reminded herself with a giggle, and it would probably be the death of her, if she ever mentioned that he needed fifteen minutes for her even to untangle the first layer of spasms from his lower back, and it would definitely be the end of them if she ever mentioned that sometimes he needed a Snickers bar afterwards, just to sleep better.

He didn't at the moment, though, she thought with a smirk, since he was already dozing, curled loosely around her, and she'd finally worked it out of his back, the lingering dull ache, judging from his deep sighs, and he just stretched loosely as her fingers trailed lightly along his body, and it wasn't like she didn't know it all by heart by then, anyway, exactly where he liked her hands and her lips as he burrowed closer into her, even if it all made him comically drowsy.

It was more comfortable than doing it under the kitchen table, though, she granted, doing it on the plush new carpet, and they do it like this in romance novels all the time, she reminds him wryly, with a whispery giggle, and she wonders why no one ever mentions that it gets pretty hot – literally –when a fire breathing dragon coils lazily around you afterwards, blowing heated air into your chest as he drifts off to sleep, murmuring contentedly that he "told you so."

* * *

><p>It was a trap and she led him right down into it – like a mouse running through some maze for a hunk of stale cheese. She'd dragged him to the weekend fair, and how bad could it be, she insisted, and she'd buy him cotton candy, she'd promised, and they didn't have to stay that long. It didn't look that hard, she added slyly – the ring toss – and they had all those neat prizes, and that guy over there had just won his girl-friend a big purple stuffed penguin, and she'd always wanted a giant stuffed giraffe to go with the smaller one on her dresser, one just like the one on the top shelf of the ring toss booth, sitting next to the gangly chicken – like the chicken he'd be, apparently, if he didn't win her the damn thing.<p>

How hard could it be, anyway, he'd shrugged as he bought his first round of chances. Twenty seven dollars and fifty cents later he's grumbling and growling and sweating and cursing to himself as she hugs the stupid toy to her chest, and it just drives him crazy – her exuberant giggle and the sun shimmering through her hair and the way she smiles at him like he's just won an all-state wrestling trophy and the feel of her body as she embraces him and the taste of her lips when she kisses him excitedly and chatters about where she'll keep him.

It was all a con, anyway, the ring toss and the stuffed toys, and the guy even throws in a gold fish in a plastic bag – since they'd been such a cute couple, he said, which Alex knew was code for such big suckers, who'd just parted with almost thirty bucks for a pile of fluff and a feeder fish – and he'd tell her that they had no more room for pets, but that would be pointless, and he'd tell her the damn thing would just be Sadie's next meal, but she'd already fallen in love with the scaly thing – before they'd even gotten back to the car, and he told her they weren't running freaking Noah's Ark, but she just insisted that that was the perfect name for him.

It was pointless, anyway, and he just trudged behind her back to the car, toting the gangly orange giraffe while she cooed to the bug eyed fish. He'd known better than to trust her anyway, he reminded himself, cringing at the gawkers as they drove away, with the giraffe's head sticking happily out of the window like an over-excited mutt as he drove, since, really, the damn thing took up the whole back seat and then some, and it wasn't like his car was a cargo van, or a freaking animal transport.

That all falls on deaf ears, and he just followed behind her, rolling his eyes in the pet shop they'd stopped at on the way home, as she scooped up a bowl and a net and a slab of decorative coral and some organic fish food and a little plastic scuba diver to keep him company – before deciding that he needed a friend. Then it was a bigger bowl and another feeder fish – just dubbed Nadine, since another bible name wouldn't be respectful, she insisted – along with treats for the dogs and a squeaky mouse for Sadie and bird seed for the feeder and walnuts for the squirrels, since they were lower in fat and she was watching their diet – and he just shook his head at how much a freaking free goldfish cost and tossed it all in the trunk.

It was pointless, anyway, he reminded himself, as he watched her arrange the gravel in the bowl and position the little plastic diver and introduce the fish to each other. It was pointless, anyway, because her hair always smelled like strawberries and her skin was silky beneath his hands and sometimes she sucked all the air out of his lungs for a second and made his head spin, when she breezed past the sink like that, and sometimes she made him queasy and sea sick, and sometimes she made his pulse pound in his ears, and it all just washed over him, and then he was at it again like he had been that afternoon - struggling to win a stupid giraffe or choking down spinach or stock piling supplies for the zoo she was running right in their house, just because of what it did to him, when she gave him that look.

It was pointless, anyway, he imagined later that evening, as he watched her fuss over the huge giraffe as she set him beside her dresser, because she was smiling and thanking him again and beaming at him like he'd done something special, and it had only even occurred to him a few minutes before that he'd never even gotten the cotton candy she'd promised him.

* * *

><p>They stop at a local diner in Montana, and spend an hour at the petting zoo, and she buys three more key chains for her collection, ignoring his snarking, since a grown man who decides what cereal to eat entirely by the commercials advertising magic rings with super powers hidden - in specially marked boxes only – really shouldn't say anything, even if the frog key chain that made the croaking noises had nothing to do with Montana.<p>

That wasn't the point, and he dropped it at the cash register anyway, when he eagerly watched her replenish the stash of Snickers bar she always carried in her purse for emergencies, and it was just like she'd imagined – Montana - with wide open fields and snow-capped mountains looming in the distance and cattle farms dotting the highways, and it was all really sort of intimidating, how the horizon stretched open in every direction until you almost went cross eyed just trying to keep your eyes on the road.

It wasn't like Iowa, she noticed, since it wasn't a sea of corn and soy stretching as far as she could see, and it wasn't silos and grain threshers every few miles, and it wasn't golden prairie grasses waving in the wind, and it wasn't cramped little white farm houses sitting on the end of dusty lanes, with rusty mail boxes and loose wooden steps and frilly lace curtains, hanging as if someone had tried, once upon a time, to make a home of it, before it all got upended like a madly spinning snow globe, by a tornado or two of neurotransmitters run amok.

It was nothing like her parents' place, she reminded herself as she stepped through the door again, with everything in its place, and his mother was nothing like hers, and his father didn't seem to exist at all – like he'd been whisked away by storm winds of his own – and his sister was nothing like any of hers, and it all made her head hurt and her lungs ache – trying to breath in a house full of ghosts, and she tried to stay out of it as usual, since it was really between him and Amber, and she tried not to scream, since really, it wasn't fair, any of it, and she tried not to be snippy back, when Amber needled him about Peads and Seattle and how Aaron had at least stuck around, at least, until it all fell apart for him, too.

Amber didn't get it, April knew – the desperation that rattled the house; she couldn't get it, because she was too young, because it was still all she knew. Amber didn't get him, either, since it was what they had in common, and he never seemed to notice it, how he struggled to breath here, too, how he tossed and turned at night, how his hands trembled slightly – in ways only a surgeon would notice – when they went to the psychiatric facility – how it all upended him, too, and how it wasn't his fault, no matter what Amber said, and how it wasn't in his power to fix, no matter what she expected of him, and that it didn't do them any good at all, for her to snipe at the one thing he was proud of about himself, that he was a rock star surgeon.

She tried not to say it, because it wasn't her place, and she tried to mind her own business, because it wasn't her sister, and she tried to keep her tongue, because Amber was barely twenty years old, and struggling to hold this mess together just like he was, and she tried not to interject, because he'd resent it if she said anything or tried to defend him, and she tried to be patient, because it was really impossible – the whole situation – and she wondered if she'd just make matters worse by telling her point blank how much it annoyed her, that she was treating him like it was all his fault, when it had all started long before either of them was born.

She tried for three days, but it all erupted abruptly that night, while Alex was still at the facility, meeting with one of the psychiatrists. It came out in torrents that startled her, and it was over before she knew it, and it had probably failed completely, since Amber had already grabbed her keys and fled the house before she was even sure she'd finished, and she wondered if maybe that was something else Amber had in common with Alex, too, an impulse to run.

It rattled through her mind as the walls hovered around her, as if squeezing her tight, and he said nothing about Amber not being home when he returned, and he just shrugged when she didn't come back the next day, and he just glowered and rolled his eyes when she finally told him what happened, and he didn't mention it again as they pulled out of the driveway, and it hung between them through four entire states, an awkward, uncomfortable silence, broken only by the wind rustling the grain stalks, and a radio announcer barking about wheat prices.

It wasn't what she expected, exactly, since he usually made it loud and clear when he was angry, and she was sure she was going to hear about it, by the time they'd pulled into another Quickie Mart in Idaho, and she decided it was probably just as well to give him some space, or as much as she could over the next few hundred miles or so, and she decided she'd just wait it out, and she didn't mention it at all when he returned to the car, that the donuts he'd bought were nothing but high fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils, and the soda he was washing them down with should probably be accompanied by a quick shot of insulin.

* * *

><p>It made his blood boil, all through Cedar Rapids, that she'd said anything to Amber, and it made him flush beet red all through Ames, that she thought she had to fight his battles for him, and it made him grind his teeth to keep from saying anything – clear to Sioux Falls – that she hadn't minded her own damn business, and it wasn't even until they hit Pierre before he could even see straight without seeing red all over again, and it wasn't until Butte before he could catch his breath, after she'd finally drifted off to sleep and darkness settled around them.<p>

He probably should've stopped for the night but it just kept gnawing at him, rattling in his brain, and it scared the shit out of him, that that might be his future – orderlies and pills and restraints and social workers who swore he was doing fine, even if he didn't fucking know who or where he was - and it clawed at his skin and it made his stomach churn and his hands tremble and it was all just a blur of dimly lit fence posts racing by as he drove into the night.

She didn't say it the next day, she didn't say anything, when she finally took over the driving, and it was another package of donuts and another jolting soda and he was just staring blankly out the window when he felt it in his pocket. He smirked and shook his head, rolling his eyes as he traced his fingers over it, before his head hit the seat rest with a dull thud and he finally drifted off.

It startled him when she finally woke him, hours later, and he struggled to clear his head as they went into the house, and he dragged up to their bed as she rounded up everybody, and called the neighbors to thank them for taking care of everybody while they were gone, and she must have decided she needed to oversee the zoo, since she was still down stairs when he dropped onto the bed, nearly sending Sadie flying until she nudged him back over, reclaiming her spot.

It drove him crazy, her determined green eyes, and he smirked at the thought – that a striped clump of fur could send him over the edge, even if none of the other chicks had – and it all still coursed through his brain in a muddled, aching haze – the blur of the road and the chatter in the psych ward and the reassurances from the psychiatrist, as if shrinks were much better then witch doctors – and it all just blurred into the fading dusk as his heart pounded in his ears.

It took him a while to steady his breathing, and he'd have popped up and gone for a run if he could just get the feeling back in his numb legs, and the crushing stiffness to unclench in his back. He stared at the ceiling instead, listening as Sadie purred steadily beside him, her weight pressed into his side, as if she considered it a compromise to share the space with him. It took some nerve to be a cat, really, and he sort of respected it, sort of, that they didn't beg like dogs, or chirp like birds – for no apparent reason – or run like hamsters on wheels, or swim in the same circles, or beg for attention; they didn't need anything, really, except food and water; they were pretty low maintenance, really, and it wasn't like he liked them or anything, but he got it, at least, the haughty independence, and he could almost admire it, sort of.

It was nothing like that with Amber, who squawked like a bird until she'd pissed off even April, and it was nothing like that with Aaron, who'd always tried too hard and always been eager, sort of like a Corgi, really, and it was nothing like that with his mother, who'd been running on the same wheel for years, and getting nowhere. It was nothing like that with any of them, and he couldn't do a damn thing about it, and there wasn't a damn thing they needed that he could even do, and it wasn't like they'd even ever been a family – even before he'd beat the crap out of his father – and it wasn't like his being a doctor had done them much good.

It didn't matter anyway, what Amber had said, because it wasn't something he could fix with his hands, and it wasn't something he could undo, and it wasn't like they were even in the clear, and they'd probably always watch each other nervously for the first signs and the symptoms, for any hint that it coursed through their veins, too, the madness that the pills and the potions and the case workers struggled so hard to keep at bay.

It didn't matter anyway, he reminded himself, and he didn't even move when she dropped into the bed beside him, and he didn't even open his eyes when she slid her arms around him, and he just sighed quietly as she kissed his cheek, and he just smirked tiredly when she slipped a Snickers bar into his hand, running her fingers lightly over his.

* * *

><p>It took him a few minutes to unwrap the candy bar, she noticed, since his fingers were shaky and his eyes were bright and swollen, and not quite fully open. She would've helped him, but she knew better, and she would've brushed the tears from his face, if he'd been anyone but him, and she would have said something but it would just make matters worse, and it was really all he needed, anyway, for her to lay there quietly so that he could drift off to sleep.<p>

It was all he'd ever needed, really, and she smirked as she listened to his breathing steady as she burrowed closer into him, remembering Dani's off-hand comment that she spoiled him. It would drive him crazy to be fussed over, and it would drive him away, if she told him it would all be fine, and it would send him off in a sputtering fit, if she acted like he wasn't hardcore.

She got it, that part, she did, about needing so desperately to be hard core, about needing so desperately not to need anything, when you grow up in an upended snow globe, or a tiny white farm house wrecked by tornadoes, and she stayed there for the next few hours running it over in her mind, their trip, and listening to him breathe, and working her fingers down his spine, rolling her eyes at his deep sighs, until her hand ran over the object spilling from his pocket.

It was an Idaho Spud key chain, she noticed immediately, shaped just like a miniature potato, and it had jointed legs, like the menacing vegetables in his silly movies, and it was wearing a goofy grin under its farmer hat, and blue jean overalls, and it's eyes lit up when she squeezed it – all ten of them – and it was still tagged from a Boise gas station, which they must have passed through on their way back, and it was nothing like anything in her key chain collection, and it was the last thing she would've expected him to pick up, though it did have some tell-tale white powder finger prints from his donuts on one of its pants legs.

She brushed it off carefully, pushing Sadie's curious paw away, and holding it tightly. It would be a difficult morning, the next day, and he'd deny it for weeks, that any of it bothered him, and it would simmer long after, amid the buzz of cool surgeries and sports news and traffic jams and bad movies, and she made a mental note as she finally drifted off, to pick up some cool whip the next day, and to bulk up her emergency stash of Snickers bars.

She buys a key lime pie, also, the next afternoon, since she likes them, too, and she watches as he digs holes in the yard, for bulbs that won't need planting for months, and she listens as he argues with the Tomzac triplets about superpowers, before leashing the dogs up for them to walk, part of the top secret Water Wars truce from the previous summer, she imagines, and she smirks as she kisses him – at the faint hint of chocolate and peanuts on his breath – and she just rolls her eyes as he adds another giraffe key chain to the collection he snarks on, and she laughs as he squabbles with Sadie over bed space.

It all settles into a steady rhythm again over the next few weeks, and she beams when he's named an Attending two months later, and she tells him how proud she is of him, even if he brushes it off with a smirk, and she just peeks in on him in the NICU one morning at 3:00 am, on a day they're on call, and she wonders if he still believes it, that it's all about cool surgeries.

It's not for her, that much she's sure of, because she's the go to chick in trauma, and she's named an Attending, too, three months later, and it couldn't really be about the cool surgeries anyway, because they were reorganizing the Emergency Room and undergoing certification review as a level one trauma center and there was just too much else to organize, before the patients even got to the operating rooms, because trauma was so complicated.

They celebrated her promotion a week later, with tickets to a basketball game, and organic popcorn drizzled with olive oil, and cotton candy, and a key chain shaped like a stretcher, with a strategically placed ketchup stain he'd obviously added himself, because he was – him, and would find it funny, in his own warped and twisted way – and a kiss that left her breathless, right there in the arena, after she'd just put on her foam finger, and a smirk that made her stomach flutter and her heart clench and her lungs empty and her legs tremble and her skin tingle, almost as if she was a freaking virgin all over again.

* * *

><p>It had taken months, but it finally settled back into an awkward routine, he'd call Amber, she'd call him, they'd plan for the next visit, and talk about community college, where she was studying to be a nurse. They'd talk about Aaron and their mother, and about how to maintain the house, and about how she'd work at the hospital in the next town over once she graduated, and about whether she'd pay him back, since she was infuriating and annoying and fiercely independent and didn't need anyone or anything, as she mentioned repeatedly.<p>

It was a peace of sorts, he imagined, and it wasn't like anything was ever easy with sisters, judging from April's, and it wasn't like it hadn't been hard work, just to get that far, and it wasn't like the past could ever be undone, but at least she had something like a future now, if she didn't screw it up, and it wasn't great, but at least it was a start.

He hoped she'd get it too, someday, April, that Amber was just a kid, that she'd grown up in a hell hole, that she probably didn't mean it, whatever else she'd said that had set April off, since he was sure he hadn't heard all of it. It was probably chick protocol, though, he imagined, as he watched her from across the wide lawn, laughing with Beth and Dani as the usual mob milled around her mother's picnic – to keep it a secret.

He pocketed his cell phone, leaned back against the railing of the gazebo, and it baffled him, the whole family thing, and it still made him vaguely claustrophobic, her father's glares and her mother's curious glances, though her uncles from Cleveland weren't too bad, and it just made him roll his eyes, whenever two or more of her sisters gathered in the same place, because they gossiped non-stop and cackled like hens and they went to her about everything, and they always looked over at him once or twice, before starting to laugh all over again.

He'd heard plenty of that at the lunch table over the years, girls dishing on dudes, and it was always noisy and devious and annoying as hell, and he wondered if they'd ever get it – the whole X-chromosome brigade – that it was all simpler if you just didn't over think it, or talk about it constantly, or obsess over what it was, exactly, when one glance of her in a sun dress could make his stomach flip and his skin tingle and his throat catch, and lead him back here again and again, even if her whole family seemed a little off, to be perfectly honest.

It wasn't something to over think, though, he reminded himself at the airport, as she chatted happily with the old lady sitting beside her, and at the kennel, when she gathered up the crew, and in the kitchen, when she greeted the plants and the fish and Cathy, the homeless cactus that she'd taken in for "just a week" – over a year ago. It wasn't something to think about at all, he told himself, as she dropped onto the couch beside him, popcorn in tow, and snarked on his movies, and snaked her arms carefully around his chest.

It wasn't something to focus on, he insisted, because that was always the beginning of the end, believing that it might be something, and that was always when it all fell apart for him, when he thought he finally had it in sight, and that was always when it all blew up in his face, thinking it might be different this time, that she might be different, and that was always just when he got kicked in the teeth again, right when it started to feel like she might belong there for real.

It wasn't something to decide about, either, as if there was any freaking choice in the matter, as if it had ever mattered what he did, since it always went to hell in the end. It wasn't something to feel, either, like her hands on his face, or her lips on his, or her silky skin, or the beat of her heart, or the curve of her body, or the familiar rhythm of her breathing as she burrowed into his chest, as if it would never occur to her that she might belong somewhere better.

* * *

><p>The grapevine percolates gently for months, but almost boils over again in late November. She picks up five pounds again, maybe ten, if she accounts for the key lime pie, and it's just stress from their jobs – and the damn junk food he brings into the house - but rumor has it that it's twins and that Cristina already has a pool going to guess the sexes and names and weights.<p>

She just rolls her eyes and shakes her head and pulls the towel more closely around her as she steps out of the shower, and it's vegetables and salads and extra walks at lunch again for weeks until she's back to normal and she wonders if the chatty nurses from the betting pool will demand their money back, or if Cristina had already spent it all on French fries.

She could have told them just to focus on their damn jobs, and that it would be nothing like what they were probably imagining it would be like with him, anyway. They were probably just like she'd been once, imagining shimmering candles and fancy dinners and bouquets of roses and breathless, romantic "I love you's" whispered into their ears.

It wasn't like that at all.

It was wilted vegetables stuffed in the wrong bins and half priced basketball tickets and grudgingly purchased Halloween decorations and nagging about oil changes and snow shoveling and rug hauling and bath towels stacked haphazardly and their last few visits to Ohio – after the first disaster – and her awkward acquaintance with the odd little family in Iowa, and her somewhat less awkward insertion into his much odder little family at Seattle Grace, their lack of meds notwithstanding.

She could have told her sisters that, too, when they teased her about spoiling him. She could have told them to just mind their own business, that it was no concern of theirs at all, that he just needed to be humored, when he insisted that he was just in Peads for the cool surgeries, that he just needed someone as stubborn as him, when it came to organizing the pantry – or un-alphabetized chaos would reign over their canned soups, that he usually just needed a Snickers bar, when he was being impossibly him late into a 16 hour shift, that he just needed a nudge here and there, when it came to his family, that he just needed to be out- right bribed when vegetables or serious dramatic movies were involved, that he just needed a lighter touch along the scar lines, which still made him vaguely uncomfortable if you looked at them too closely, that he just needed a little help to keep up the façade that he didn't need much of anything, since he was hard core.

She could have told them all of it, she imagined later that evening, long after he'd drifted off beside her, that he was irrational and impossible and infuriating and intractable and nothing like the knights in shining armor that charged through romance novels, sweeping fair maidens off their feet, slaying their dragons, and carting them off to castles in the sky.

Her first time had been with a knight in shining armor, though, and even that knight had been one night too many, and her life was no romance novel. It wasn't a romance novel at all, she smirked, tracing her fingers lightly along his body as he curled into her hands.

Not that a suit of shining armor was much more practical than a Roadster convertible, she imagined, as her hands continued their travels, especially in Seattle. It would just rust in the spring rain, and attract lightning during late fall storms; it would be chilly and drafty in winter, even if he'd never admit he was cold, and steamy in the summer.

It would creak noisily when he got home late, she assumed, rolling her eyes at his lazy half smile, and bend at awkward angles, she guessed, giggling at his familiar murmurs, and dig uncomfortably into his body in all the wrong places, she realized suddenly, grimacing reflexively and instinctively shielding the soft flesh beneath her fingers, as another quiet sigh escaped him.

She preferred him in scrubs, anyway, or in his lab coat, or his old leather jacket, or the faded Iowa Wrestling sweat pants he wore at home, the soft fleecy ones with the flimsy ties.

He'd never be mistaken for a knight, anyway, she thought a week later, smirking over her coffee and morning newspaper – since she never remembered any pictures in her story books of knights in shining armor digging elbows deep into a box of kids cereal, groping determinedly for a limited edition Flash Gordon magic decoder ring – in specially marked boxes only, all the commercials warned – which would give him X-ray vision – though, to be fair, that would probably be a plus – if you lived in an area prone to invasions by marauding radioactive fruit.

If her life had been a romance novel, they would have gone to a fancy dinner that evening, and he would have brought flowers, and they might even have gone away over-night to a fancy hotel, and had room service for breakfast the following morning, as if he didn't roll his eyes at lacy table cloths, and snark at dead weeds in over-priced vases; as if he didn't eat his Captain Crunch right out of the box with his fingers, just so he wouldn't have to rinse out a dish.

If her life had been a romance novel, he would have proposed on Valentine's Day, or Christmas Eve, or maybe New Years; he would have gotten down on one knee, beside a roaring fire place; he would have written a poem or a song, and declared his endless love to the stars; he would have been… someone else entirely.

If her life had been a romance novel, he wouldn't have proposed during the third quarter of a basketball game, the first of the season, on Halloween night, and he wouldn't have been dressed as a Space Vampire – for the party they were going to after the game, at Cristina's fire house. His hands wouldn't have been shaking, either, and he wouldn't have dropped the ring into the popcorn tub, and it wouldn't have been salty and buttery when he finally slipped it on her finger, and he wouldn't have blushed when she kissed him.

If her life had been a romance novel, she wouldn't have spent the next few hours rolling her eyes during the party, as Cristina snarked and Meredith teased and Bailey chortled and Richard and Derek and Owen eagerly offered advice and encouragement, and reminisced about doing it on their honeymoons.

If her life had been a romance novel, he wouldn't have worked a 16 hour shift the day before, and it would have been more than once that night, and it probably would have spilled over into the shower, and her ring wouldn't have still smelled vaguely like popcorn and chocolate, and he wouldn't be snoring softly beside her, and she wouldn't be delicately brushing the remnants of space vampire makeup from his face, as he nuzzled closer into her.

Her life was never a romance novel, though, not even close, she reminded herself with a smirk, since she'd ended up instead with her very own fire breathing dragon, curled up sleepily in her arms, purring contentedly, a half melted miniature Snickers bar from the Halloween party still clutched in his fingers.


	7. Chapter 7

It couldn't have been the wedding that she really wanted, he imagined, any more than their first one was, when they'd gone to City Hall, in between a quick trip to the grocery store and the inevitable stop at the pet shop. This couldn't have been it either, even if she'd said it was a compromise with her mother and her sisters, immediate family only, in the gazebo on her parents' farm, right before the picnic. He'd heard it a few times, that it was just better this way, better then listening to her mother fuss about china and seating arrangements, and Dani fuss over the menu, and Beth bubble about photos.

Not that he disagreed with any of it, but he didn't buy it, really, that it was really what she wanted, and he didn't by it, when she insisted he didn't need to wear a suit, since she was just wearing her yellow sun dress, and it sounded simple, immediate family only, except that with her, that could still mean half the population of Ohio, as far as he could tell.

Whether she'd meant it or not, though, it was over before he knew it – the simple vows – and it kicked up moments later, the mob arriving from all across the country, and it was all around him all over again, chatty sisters and half deaf uncles, or aunts – he still couldn't always tell – barbecued ribs and hot dogs that Winston would've loved, Frisbees that Gracie would've leaped for like they wouldn't believe and an impromptu flag football game that ended two hours later, in the usual shouting match over the Browns.

It was all pretty predictable, and he just rolled his eyes when her father glared at him, as usual, and he just frowned when her mother piled more broccoli on his plate, again, commenting on how he should set a good example for all the kids around, since he was a doctor, and he just shrugged and nodded when Jenny chewed his ear off about term limits and environmental regulations, because it just wasn't worth fighting over, and he just smirked back at Dani when she flirted, and at Cari when she bragged about Mayo, and he just shifted on his feet impatiently when Beth pulled out her I-PAD and pulled up her latest spy photos from Spain, or Sumatra, or St. Petersburg, or wherever the hell she'd just been.

It all buzzed around him as the afternoon wore down, and he wandered out back toward the paddock for a while, just to clear his head, and he watched the sun sink toward the horizon as one of the horses trotted over curiously, to see if he'd brought anything, and he just smirked again and offered up the rest of his apple, brushing his fingers over the animal's nose as it chewed happily, and he just listened as it finally surrounded him again, the quiet of the falling darkness, the faint ripple of the light wind rustling the grass, the water trickling from the nearby pump, and the first stirrings of the cicadas.

She was standing beside him a moment later, pulling her light sweater around her, and she just ran her fingers through her hair as she greeted the horse like an old friend, and she told him with a relieved sigh that it was finally winding down. He'd expected to hear that from her before, more times than he could count – that it was coming to an end, that they were done – but she was leaning back against the fence, smiling shyly and twirling her ring on her finger and grumbling about Dani's commentary on it.

He'd offered to get it re-set before, when they could afford it, he'd stammered, and it was the one she'd picked out, and she'd said she liked it, and he imagined he was supposed to say something about it again, but he couldn't tell what. She must have noticed it, though, because she assured him again that it was perfect, and her hands were on his face, and her lips were on his, and her hair was glistening in the moonlight, and she was giggling happily again when she finally let him go, and it was starting all over again, the weird fluttering in his stomach, like maybe he'd eaten too much of that damned broccoli.

* * *

><p>She probably should have said it just then, she imagined, as she slipped her fingers through his, and tugged him around the paddock, toward the pond near the back barn. It was just three little words, and it was just what people said when they got married, when they kissed someone, the way she'd just kissed him, when they'd got those feelings all over again, like it was their first time, when their legs trembled and their hearts fluttered in their chests and they tingled all over, shivering in a faint summer breeze.<p>

She probably should have said it just then, since it was always there in his eyes, the vague terror and the doubt, the uncertainty, as if she'd be gone in an instant; he wouldn't have believed it, though, since he didn't trust words, and he wouldn't have done more than smirk, since he didn't trust promises or vows, and he wouldn't have known what to do – with his eyes or his hands or his feet or his voice – since it wasn't like him to say it, at least, not in words, and he obviously hadn't heard it much in his whole life.

It wasn't like him at all, and she imagined he just thought it was perfectly obvious, since he dug holes for her weeds in the spring, and armed her with Super Soakers in the summer, and hung her Halloween decorations for her in the fall, even if she did have to hide the candy, and hauled in the tree and strung up the decorative candy canes, even if he did grumble about them not even being edible, and even if he never could remember which end of a candy cane was up.

He probably just thought it was obvious, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like actually saying it changed anything, or wouldn't just make him blush and stammer, anyway, even though he probably needed to hear it more than anyone she'd ever met. He needed it, but that's another reason why she shouldn't say it, either, she reminded herself, and she just tugged his sleeve instead, leading him back to the gazebo, where they settled into the old porch swing she'd played on as a child.

She leaned back into his chest, slid her arms around him, and listened to the breeze rustling the grass and the cicadas coming to life, as fire flies lit up around them, and candles danced in the distance, as the last of the deserts were being polished off, and conversations wound down, and she remembered the things she'd imagined in that gazebo, when her and her sisters gathered there, watching the stars.

She giggled again, then, at how much it would scandalize them all – if she did it right there in the gazebo, on her parents farm. It would probably give her father a heart attack, though, she remembered, and send her mother into shock, and it would light up the family grapevine – since she wasn't just the go to chick in trauma, here, and they'd always think of her as April the perfect daughter, the responsible one who'd never do anything like that, since that was really more Beth's thing, or Jenny's, and they all had their specific slots in the family, even if Jenny was out of order alphabetically.

It was just one night, anyway, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she hadn't found plenty of ways to say it, too, even if she didn't spoil him, exactly, no matter what Beth and Dani said, and it wasn't like he'd be able to talk, anyway, she thought with a smirk, gently slipping a Snickers bar into his fingers as she kissed him again, and just rolling her eyes again as the eager unwrapping of the candy bar mingled in with the cicadas and the rustling grass and the steady rhythm of his heart, beating beneath her ear as she drew more closely into him.

* * *

><p>It was never going to work, she decided, on a drizzly Wednesday two months later. They'd been looking since they returned from Ohio, for a house they could actually agree on, though he didn't want a big yard, with all the freaking mowing, and she didn't want sleek or modern, and he didn't want long drive ways to shovel, and she hated country kitchens, and he hated split levels, and she wanted someplace cozy and traditional, and he wanted something big, with room for his trophies.<p>

It had to suit the whole family, too, she reminded the bewildered, frustrated realtor – jabbing her elbow into Alex's ribs while he rolled his eyes - as she pulled out her cell phone and showed the poor woman the slide show of her menagerie. It needed a place for a big television, too, he insisted, ignoring April's muttering about radioactive fruit. She wanted a nice pantry, also, April added, daring him with her eyes to say anything about her organizing system, and he wanted a garage for his car, he added, cutting April off before she could mention anything about the practicality of convertibles in Seattle.

It went back and forth for another month, and it was never going to work, April thought, as she trudged up the pathway to see the next listing, because she liked colonials and he liked four-squares and she'd always imagined clapboard and he liked sturdy brick – as if they were buying a bunker or a bomb shelter, she once griped to the realtor, while Alex was out of earshot – and it wasn't much from the front, the house they'd just entered, but it had worn wood floors and acres of millwork and a stone fireplace in the kitchen and a finished basement with a flat screen and big, sunny bedrooms and a yard with trees for the hammock and she knew it the minute she laid eyes on it, it was their home.

It would take some convincing, she was sure, maybe even some manipulation, or an out-right bribe, and she was readying her strategy – and fingering the emergency Snickers stash in her purse - when he popped up from the finished lower level, nodding approvingly about the exposed brick walls and the cushy carpeting. It figured, she imagined, as she walked through the house with him again – the late afternoon light pouring in through the windows – that what would sell it to him would be a sea of blue green shag carpet – probably out of style even on Mars – and the dented paneling in the fourth bedroom, framing the windowsill which would be the perfect place, he insisted, for his dusty trophies.

She could already picture it, too, when she went down to the finished lower level to check for herself, the hideous, over stuffed sectional he'd want, to go with his giant television; a row of DVDs, including all 87 sequels to Attack of the Killer Cucumbers; Iowa wrestling banners plastered on the wall, as if the shabby exposed brick surrounding the huge fire place wasn't bad enough; dirty glasses on the coffee table, along with the inevitable cheese doodle crumbs; she could already see all of it, and Alex plopped right in the middle of it, snoring on the couch while Sadie sprawled beside him.

She could already picture the rest of it, too, as she wandered back up the stairs, dishes piled in the sink and fruit and cans and cereal stacked carelessly, as if he didn't even know the alphabet; the gold fish crackers floating in Noah and Nadine's bowl, because he'd never get it – that cannibal jokes just weren't that funny; the Super Soakers in the garage – in case the neighborhood was over- run with marauding 8 year olds, and towering stacks of sloppily folded towels balanced precariously in the second upstairs bath, and not even sorted by color or thread count; the faded tee shirts hung carefully in the closet, as if they weren't on the verge of unraveling completely, and his collection of magic decoder rings.

She could picture it all, as she peeked out a window over-looking the yard, their hammock and the bird feeders and the Frisbees he tossed to Gracie and Tobey, and maybe a swing set, someday, and she could hear it all, too, when he came up behind her, mentioning excitedly that the current owners might even leave the enormous couch in the finished basement if they offered them the right price for it.

She just barely resisted it, the impulse to tell him that the right price for it wasn't one plug nickel, since it was obscenely brown plaid and impossibly over stuffed and its current owners couldn't possibly move it out of the house anyway – without removing at least one side of the building – and it certainly wasn't a selling point at all that it sort of went with the sea of blue green carpeting spreading across the floor.

It sort of went with it, all right – the rustic greenish brown plaid – like a ship wrecked vessel tangled in a web of creeping sea weed, and she almost added it this time, too – that he should probably have his eyes checked – but she just smiled and nodded, because at least it would stay down stairs, and at least she wouldn't have to listen to it anymore, about how he'd never liked that geometric print rug, and about how the zoo was too hard on the furniture, because really… what damage could they do to it, and how would they even notice it, anyway, amid the eye crossing plaid.

She couldn't listen to it anymore, when he eagerly admired the brick exterior, and they filled out the paper work on the spot, and it would all be perfectly organized, the move, and it would be a great house for the whole family, and she watched the following week, clip board in hand, as he hefted the last two boxes into the front door. It took an hour or so to get everybody settled, and they went out again later that day for a grocery store run and to pick up some take out, and it was a great omen, she insisted the next morning, as she rushed into the kitchen to retrieve some treats, that the stray black and white cat that had wandered into the yard when she was putting out pecans for the squirrels was friendly.

* * *

><p>It wasn't what he was expecting, because he'd like the exterior immediately – with the sturdy red brick and the massive front porch – and that was usually it, he either liked the inside or the outside but not both. It looked like it could withstand a hurricane or a tornado, no problem, and he figured that would seal it, that the inside would be too cramped or too old fashioned or too musty or too yellow.<p>

It was nothing like that, though, which was a damn good thing, since he caught it the first time they walked into what the realtor called the family room – the look on April's face. He'd seen it before, every freaking time she baby sat a homeless fish or a forlorn cactus or an abandoned rodent or a weed with a mineral deficiency – and he knew what it meant – and he knew it wasn't going anywhere the minute she saw the bay window, and he knew from her expression that they weren't going anywhere, either.

He just followed her into the kitchen after that, and watched her push the curtains over the window aside, and peek out into the yard, and he could see it already, the weeds lining the windowsill, and the fish plopped on the little shelf near the built in hutch, and the cactus perched by the stove. He could see the rest of it, too, the pantry lined wall to wall, with feline delight and over-priced dog food and seeds and nuts and hamster hay and minerals for the weeds and the little umbrella she used for the cactus when it wasn't in growing season, and only needed partial light.

He can see it all, as he follows her upstairs, the neurotically labeled linen closet with the neatly ironed sheets, as if they'd even notice wrinkles when they slept; the bath towels sorted, as far as he could tell, by country of origin, as if anything else mattered as long as they were clean; her strawberry shampoo in the shower and the silly giraffes stashed on the dresser and the goofy books she still read sitting on her night stand, next to her hand cream and her lip balm and her de-ionized water.

He sees it all clearly, when he peers over her shoulder at the over-sized glass enclosed shower in the main bedroom's bath, and she must see it, too – them doing it there before leaving for work – since she jabs him in the ribs with a smirk and a frown, and tells him to behave. He sees it all clearly, because she says it with an edge to her voice – and a glint in her eye – which tells him she doesn't mean it at all.

He sees it all clearly, as he surveys the back yard, room for the dogs and a landing strip for the birds and squirrels galore; space for her picnics and pathways that could stand some new weeds and big old trees for the hammock he could already see – swaying softly in the breeze, as she lay wrapped in his arms.

He could already see it, her hair falling in soft waves, framing her face in the fading sunlight; he could already see it, as she ran her fingers over the sturdy porch railing, her plans already forming – for hanging skeletons and over-stuffed spiders and motorized witches and those stupid plastic candy canes that weren't even freaking edible, and that should've at least been labeled 'this end up.'

* * *

><p>It was her own fault, and she should've seen it coming, since she'd been to Iowa many times, often enough to know it was possibly the flattest place on the planet, and it wasn't like he'd ever left the state, until he ended up in Seattle, and it wasn't like he'd had much time for recreation, during his residency, and it wasn't like he'd done it in high school or college, since he was so busy wrestling.<p>

She should have seen it coming, because she'd asked him about it before she booked the reservations for their belated honeymoon, if he could actually ski. He'd just smirked and said "yeah, of course," which she only remembered half way to the resort probably meant – "how hard could it be, I'm a wrestler" – and it was too late to turn around by then, since she'd have no way to explain it, except that she was fairly sure she'd end up a widow, in his pig headed attempts to prove that he could do it.

It was worse than she imagined, and it all drew to a screeching halt with a thunderous thud, and she'd mention it eventually, that unless he'd wrestled on skis, it was an entirely different sport, and that it really wasn't the norm, for beginners to try actual ski jumps. She'd mention that eventually, but she still winces and grimaces as she pokes delicately at it, the huge blue and black bruise ringing his right hip, and rapidly spreading clear across his ass.

It's not just a bone bruise either, she insists again, pressing her fingers into his purpling flesh, it's a mid- line stress fracture between S4 and S5, and a deep fascia injury, and it's not like he shouldn't know that, since he's a doctor, and it's not like she's just exaggerating – since she is the go to chick for trauma – and she doesn't add just then that a wipe out like his would definitely fall under her specialty.

He'd ignored it the first time she said it, though, as he struggled to stand and limped heavily back to the lodge, and he brushed it off again as he dragged up the stairs to their room, and he just grumbled and groaned as he dropped onto the bed, and he probably would've just pushed her hands away, if he'd been able to actually move without wincing, and he'd never have picked up the phone – or let the lodge doctor do his or her job – by himself, which left it to her, to exchange a few eye rolls with the doctor on call, and go down to his cramped office to retrieve the pain meds herself.

It happens all the time, he assures her, although the pain meds won't work on his ego. It's not serious, just painful, she agrees, and he knows it as well as she does as she returns to their room, and she just shoves the pills at him with a glass of water, since it's just going to stiffen and ache more without the anti-inflammatories, and it's not going to be a fun ride home, anyway.

He's out cold by the time she returns from her shower, and she can finally examine it more closely but it still turns up the same diagnosis. She's seen it before, more times than she can count – since trauma and testosterone just seem to go together, like peanut butter and jelly – and she just rolls her eyes again and grabs the cream the doctor gave her from her night-stand and begins smoothing it into his skin, as the still expanding bruise creeps halfway down his leg and spreads up along toward his ribs.

It takes her thirty minutes, maybe more, to work through every inch of it, carefully untangling each muscle fiber, and she glances away occasionally, to the snow-flakes dancing in the moonlight outside their window, and the flickering flames in the corner fire place, and she just smirks and shakes her head, because it was her idea – a romantic honeymoon at a ski lodge – and she should've known it right from the start, that the gauzy photographs of the fire places in the brochure were totally false advertising.

She tried to imagine it, too, what she'd say to Dani and Beth, when they asked her if she'd taken any pictures, and she wondered what they'd think of it, really, as her fingers continued to work with a wicked smirk; she wondered what they'd think, really, if she grabbed her cell phone right then, and sent them some pictures of his still bruising ass.

She'd never hear the end of it, though, she was sure, and it would probably just make Dani's flirting with him worse, she imagined, smirking again as she traced her hands over his body, and it was probably just safer to put the cap back on the bottle, since she'd need it again in a few hours, if he wasn't going to stiffen up completely, and to bundle the bulky blankets around him, since she'd basically cut him out of his clothes, and to just accept it, that they wouldn't be needing any cool whip that evening.

She shook her head again, leaned back in her pillow and picked up her book from the nightstand. She'd started it months before, and it had given her the idea in the first place, about the romantic honeymoon at a ski lodge, and she imagined she'd just have to read about it, instead, and to hope that nobody ever asked her about it, about how it was on her honeymoon, which she'd spent beside a roaring fireplace, kneading anti-inflammatory cream into her husband's fractured ass.

It wasn't that bad, he insisted the next morning, staggering to the shower as he tried to loosen it up. It wasn't that bad, he grumbled, hunched awkwardly against the tiles as the steaming water washed over him; it was just a bruise, he insisted, crawling back into the bed with a groan; he just needed to move around some, he reminded himself, wincing as the bed shifted slightly beneath April's weight.

He'd done it before, he insisted, as she pressed another handful of pills into his hand; he'd just walked it off, he repeated, right before a huge tournament in high school, as she sank her warm fingers into his back again; he'd never even taken anything for it, he added smugly, sinking back into a pleasant haze; he'd been fine the next day, he insisted, as her hands found a familiar rhythm, and his cramped muscles melted into her touch, and the crushing ache gave way to wave after wave of… something else entirely… as he drifted off to sleep ,again, with a deep, contented moan.

* * *

><p>It'd be fine, he mumbled again many hours later, his eyes fluttering open as she tugged the blankets more closely around him, just as their room service arrived. It was soup, he noticed immediately - and pecan pancakes, his favorites, and the hot chocolate she'd promised him – days before, he thought, though he was foggy and vague on the details, and tired and hungry, and fairly sure he'd been run over by a snow mobile, or trampled by a mob of run-away reindeer.<p>

His head clears with the scent of the soup, though, and the maple syrup was the thickest he'd ever seen, and the pancakes were thick and fluffy, and the lodge had every movie channel he'd ever heard of, and even some he hadn't. The next round of pain meds had kicked in again, too, after they'd eaten, and the anti-inflammatory stuff she was working into his back again made him warm and drowsy and it was so freaking hypnotic he almost missed it, the soft circles she was working into his muscles, and the way her fingers traced gently over his spine, whenever she changed direction.

He could just be imagining it, he thought idly, as she worked her fingers into his spine, and it could just be the meds messing with his mind, he reminded himself, as she slid her hands rhythmically along his side; it might even have been the pancakes, which made him feel warm and heavy and drowsy and impossibly relaxed, as he just unfurled lazily; it might have been any of those things, until it was her hands sliding slowly back up along his body, and her lips pressed repeatedly into his skin, again and again, as she kissed along his spine, and her hair spilling over his shoulders as she nuzzled into his neck.

It might have been any of those things – his mind or his meds or the pancake syrup – until it was her arms pulling him gently closer, and her body curling leisurely around his, until it was all silky skin and the scent of strawberries and familiar curves he knew by heart, even if he was a little hazy.

It might have been any of those things, but it was still there hours later, still wrapped around him, and it just burrowed in closer, when he brushed his lips to her hair, and it just started all over again when she stirred – her fingers and her lips, chasing out the sharp ache – and it was there the next time he woke, too, to another batch of pancakes, and whatever it was he imagined he could get used to it – the feeling that rippled through him with her, even if his first shot at skiing had knocked him totally on his ass.

* * *

><p>The trip back from the lodge wasn't nearly as bad as she'd imagined, mainly because he'd been out cold the whole time, sprawled awkwardly across the back seat, and she almost said it, again, that it was a good thing they'd taken her infinitely more practical jeep – since that had been a point of discussion before they'd left, but he wouldn't have heard her anyway, so it could wait.<p>

It was probably a good thing, too, she thought the next day, that he'd already called ahead, and asked for another week off, since he was still struggling to walk, from the "minor" bruise, which was a fracture no matter he said, and hazy from the pain meds that weren't "bothering" him, and showed no signs of moving from his beloved couch, where he was watching a "documentary" about mutant seaweed.

She might have said it, too, that seaweed just couldn't run that far up on dry land, but he'd just make some comment about her green tea, then, and she'd almost given up on his basic science education. It was just as well, she imagined, as she grabbed her keys and popped into her car, since at least he was aware that he'd never be able to stand through a surgery at the moment, even if he could clear his head.

It was just as well, she imagined, as she hang her coat up in her locker, amid the chatter around her, since she'd considered bringing him in for an x-ray herself, but it's not like that would matter, if he saw it for himself, and it's not like it would heal any differently, since that was just a matter of time, and she just rolled her eyes as she imagined it, what the giggling young nurses would say about it if they were setting him up for the scans, and got a good long look at it for themselves.

It would be fine, anyway, she imagined as she settled back into her work routine, and at least he was letting it heal, and he'd be safe on the hideous, ship wrecked couch – even if the rabid seaweed he'd been watching before she left looked suspiciously like the shag carpet, which would explain a lot, actually - and she just smiled and nodded and said "it was great," when they'd asked her about her honeymoon, and she just smirked, again, when they asked her if she'd taken any pictures.

She'd never send them, though, the photos she'd taken of it – just as a joke - she reminded herself a few days later, not even just to her sisters, even if he was impossible when he was "not bored," and intractable when he was "not even sore," even if was still struggling with the steps, and infuriating when he was "not frustrated," though it was plainly taking longer to heal then he expected – since it "wasn't freaking fractured," and it occurred to her, as she watched him hobble out of the shower with a sharp grimace, that it was the bullet all over again, and that was a secret, too.

She'd never send them, though, since it wasn't any of Dani's business, why most of her honeymoon photos were of giant spruce trees and winter flowers and squirrels playing the snow, and it wasn't like she actually wanted to talk about it, about whether they did it in the hot tub, or in the steam room or on the snow mobile – or on the ski lift - like Dani'd done with Neil, before she'd dumped him at Aspen the second time, or the third, after she'd caught him with the red headed model/ski instructor, doing it right there in the pro shop, between the snow boot bindings and the magazine rack.

It wasn't like that, she wanted to mutter through gritted teeth, as the call became all about Dani again, anyway, and whether she should move back in with Neil, again, and whether Cari should change her hair color, and Beth should start looking to settle down, and Jenny should take a class or a trip - or just more tranquilizers – to meet her dream guy.

It wasn't like that, April thought, shaking her head, since Cari's hair was her business and Beth loved traveling more than anything, no matter what she said, and Dani would never be happy with just one guy, any more than Neil would ever stick with one woman, and the whole dream guy thing was a crock.

It wasn't like that, April thought, with another smirk, but she just listened anyway, because Dani just wanted to talk, and it wasn't really about Cari's hair or Beth's schedule or Jenny's love life at all, any more then it was about whether she and Alex did it in the car on the way up to the lodge. It wasn't like that at all, she imagined, since Dani was permanently frustrated with Neil, and Beth was really just into her job – when push came to shove – despite her perpetual flirting, and Cari was more focused on her residency, and Jenny would find the right guy, her meds notwithstanding, once she stopped trying to save the world all by herself, and just slowed the hell down to breathe a little.

It wasn't like that at all, she imagined, as she listened more closely, and it bubbled below the surface the minute she thought about it, that Dani envied Cari's career, which actually helped people, and she envied Jenny's passion, which wasn't flighty at all, and she maybe even envied…her… a little, even if she wasn't blonde and busty and sauntering through an exotic, exciting life in New York City.

She'd heard it before, an off-hand remark or two from Alex, about how they were just jealous, and it never made sense, because she was Invisible April, who was good at keeping her sisters on schedule and keeping their rooms organized, and Dani was the life of every party, and Beth was bubbly and popular, and Cari was brilliant, and Jenny would stand up for herself against anybody in a heartbeat.

It hadn't made sense, and she'd figured he was just grumbling about them because they were chicks and therefore annoying, but it simmered for days afterward, and she wondered if maybe that was why they were always calling her for advice, and she wondered if maybe that wasn't even scarier, since it wasn't just bizarre things they asked her – or at least, Dani – like whether she'd ever done it in a grain silo.

* * *

><p>It came out of nowhere, Amber's job offer, at a hospital in Los Angeles. They'd pay her to continue her schooling while she worked, and she'd be a nurse practitioner, eventually, and she wanted to know what to do with the house in Iowa, since she sure as hell wasn't staying in that hell hole now that she had a ticket out, too. It blew through his phone like a tornado – a gust of chick rage – and she'd hung up before he could sputter back that they'd have to figure something out.<p>

It made no fucking sense, anyway, the crap about the house, since it wasn't worth a plug nickel, and it wasn't like she'd ever liked it anymore then he did, and it wasn't like Aaron or his mother were ever going back. It made no fucking sense anyway, since it wasn't like he could just up and haul over to Iowa at a moment's notice, and it wasn't like she'd ever mentioned to him that she was planning on leaving, and it wasn't like they could find a psychiatric facility on the west coast to take them all that quickly, and it wasn't like she didn't freaking know that, since she already worked in a hospital.

It was pay back, he got that, and her making another of her freaking points, about everything he'd ever done or hadn't done for his family, and it pissed him off royally, and he seethed and growled for days, as he finally tracked down a facility on the outskirts of Los Angeles that would take his mother and Aaron, and he didn't even call her – just sent a terse text – when he contacted a real estate agent in Iowa to sell the old place, and he just tossed the small empty box aside, when Amber mailed him her old keys and a note announcing that she was already en route to her new job.

That left it to him, and he had the facilities arrange transport, for his mother and Aaron, and he told the realtor just to clear out the house, and sell it as is, and he drove down two weeks later to see to it that they were settling in, Aaron and his mother, and he didn't give it a second thought, he didn't, that she hadn't even sent him a forwarding address, or told him where she'd be working.

It didn't matter, anyway, he insisted, and he just scowled and drove faster, when April assured him that Amber would come around, and he just fidgeted in the Quickie Mart, waiting to pay for his soda and donuts and Surf Board key chain, and he just stared stoically and picked at his fingers as he heard it all again, a new crew of social workers and witch doctors and counselors promising that they were both doing fucking fine, even if they'd just been uprooted from the only stability they'd had in years.

* * *

><p>At least it was a shorter trip now, April thought, though she knew better than to say it, and it was just a matter of time, she insisted to herself – probably – before Amber would come around, and at least call again, and it would all simmer down soon, she whispered to Winston, who just stared forlornly after Alex after he walked out of the room, since no cheeses doodles had been forthcoming, though Winston had waited patiently beside him the whole evening.<p>

It would settle down and it did, over the next week or so, and another month passed, and then another, and it all faded into the buzz of surgeries and performance reviews and hospital re-organizations and a vicious battle over who should be the new Chief of Surgery, and it just dropped right into her lap, the invitation to replace Owen as head of the Trauma unit, since he would be the next Chief.

It was the last thing she expected, the last thing she'd ever anticipated – and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted it – but it was the opportunity of a lifetime, and it wasn't like she could turn it down. It would mean more responsibility, and more money, more cool surgeries, and more administrative headaches, more time spent at the hospital, and a stellar line on her resume, and it was a lot to take in all at once.

She heard about it immediately, as the grapevines churned up again, local and international – it was awesome, Cari chimed in, as if it was like that for April, too, as if her career were everything to her; it would give her a chance to make policy, Jenny said approvingly, as if she'd prefer that over surgery; it would make Alex jealous of her, Dani warned – as if Alex hadn't already bought celebratory basketball tickets for them; it would be exhausting, Beth pointed out, as she sat jet lagged and flight delayed in an airport somewhere between Bangkok and Belfast… or maybe the Bahamas… even she wasn't sure.

It bubbled through the hospital, too, about how everyone had expected it, about how no one had seen it coming, about how her husband must have had something on Owen – or Yang – about how it would mean big changes in the emergency room, about how it would be the same old, same old, about how she probably got it because they needed more women Attendings, about how she got it because she was doing it with Owen – in the Ambulance Bay, and the copy room, and the Skills Lab – about how she must be completely worn out, since she does it with Karev, too – in the on call rooms, and the Path lab, and the nursery, right in those rocking chairs.

It traveled faster than the speed of light, and it was making her head spin, as her first day as Head of Trauma approached, and it was making her toss and turn at night, as she ran all her plans over and over in her mind, and it made her vaguely queasy, her first few days, and it almost freaked her out during the first major accident on her watch – an industrial explosion, with at least forty victims, some they were still searching for a day later – and it kept her at the hospital for three days straight – and it ran through her mind as she finally dropped into a bunk, asleep before she was completely horizontal.

She woke hours later, groggy and disoriented, and unsure if it was day or night, and she almost startled at the arm wrapped around her, until the faint hint of chocolate and freshly fallen leaves brought her to her senses. She turned around toward him, tugging him closer as he sighed quietly, and listening to him breathe. It would put them right back on the grapevine, she imagined, brushing her lips across his hair as he stirred lazily. It would make for quite a story, too, she imagined, if they did it right then and there, since she was still loud and shrieky, and it wasn't like they could keep it quiet.

It would be all over the hospital in a heartbeat, she imagined, smirking at his familiar sleepy smile, as he stretched lazily and nuzzled into her neck. It would be all over, she figured, gently running her hands down his back, since she was still grabby, too – that she'd done it with Karev, and maybe even Yang and Hunt, too – for hours, and that they'd finally figured it out – why Karev had been limping painfully, back when he returned from their honeymoon, and that maybe it had been her all along, the one that had them doing it in the Atrium and the lap pool and the morgue and OR-3.

* * *

><p>It was asking for trouble, he knew. But basketball season was over, and it was the first decent weather they'd had in weeks, and it had been a six month whirlwind since she'd taken the job, and it was starting to bug her, obviously, since she hadn't asked him to rearrange the weeds in the yard, and she hadn't been filling the bird feeders as regularly – and the freaking moochers were definitely chirping their complaints – and it wasn't like it was any more expensive than tickets to the Arena.<p>

It was asking for trouble, and he almost changed his mind when they first walked through the gates, since it occurred to him that this might give her ideas, too, that she'd start picturing their yard again, and all the projects she still hadn't gotten to, and that she might want to add in a pen for a herd of zebras, or a pool for some homeless hippos, or a play-ground for some giraffes.

It would be a close call, too, judging from the way she cooed at the elephants, as she tossed them some low fat peanuts, and shrieked back at the moneys – which, okay, that sounded familiar, and kind of hot, even if she was doing it outside, in a crowded zoo, in plain day light – and stared starry eyed up at the giraffes that loped right over her, as if they might have heard how much she spoiled the dogs, and were getting ideas of their own.

It would just figure, he imagined, that she'd want to go home with a panda or a python or a puma. But she settled for a stuffed wolf from the gift shop, and a giraffe key chain with a bendy neck, and it just sort of settled into place again as she slipped her hand into his, and giggled that she'd loved it – the whole trip – and tugged him back toward the big cat display, which she swore reminded her of Sadie, though he didn't see it at all.

Whatever it was it blew over, and she was her again a few weeks later, chattering about Halloween decorations and dusting off fabric witches and the plastic ghosts – and rolling her eyes when he teased Winston and Tobey and Gracie with the skeletons in her closet – and it started all over again, the quest to find where she hid her candy stash, and to avoid being roped into costume wearing, just so they could give the neighborhood's junior beggars a "true Halloween experience," which was silly, if you thought about it, since it was a totally fake holiday to begin with, even if the food was good.

It spilled over into Thanksgiving, too, when they made the awkward trek down to Los Angeles – for a terse family meal at the psychiatric facility, since Amber had finally surfaced, and agreed to come, too – and it was tense and prickly and it made him vaguely nauseous, and it didn't matter at all, it didn't, if she wouldn't look him in the eyes, and it was a relief, at least, that he didn't have to hear it from the staff that time, that his mother and Aaron were doing fine, as if the medical bands on their wrists and the alarms on the doors and the pills they took by the handful were beside the freaking point.

It turned him beet red, too, on their ride back – since it was nothing like what April was used to, with her perfectly annoying family, and it wasn't like there was any way to get used to it, really – or if there was, he'd never found it – and he still wondered sometimes if it would be the last straw for her, if it would drive her away, that it probably lurked in him somewhere, too, simmering just below the surface.

Not that he'd blame her, if she couldn't hack it, since it was the only thing he'd ever counted on, really, the only thing he could ever trust for sure – that it would all blow up in his face, whatever it was – and that it would always end badly, with slit wrists or a sheet of paper slipped into his locker or a phone call from out of nowhere, telling him that it all had broken out again, and that it was all his fucking fault.

* * *

><p>It was something she'd have to get used to, she thought with a giggle, watching out the window as Alex dragged the ladder from the garage, and hauled the giant decorative candy canes across the yard, and scowled as he studied them, as if it wasn't perfectly obvious which way they were supposed to be hung. It didn't matter, though, she reminded herself, as long as he lined the porch roof with them, and she ran her hand over the pie tin lid with a wicked smirk, because sure it was the season of peace and joy and love and lights and all, but he'd always been more susceptible to out-right bribes, and it even seemed to turn him on, sometimes, the deviousness, as long as it came with key lime pie and cool whip.<p>

Not that she should think that way, she reminded herself sternly as she returned to her list, planning every last detail of their visit to Ohio the next week. She still wanted to pick up some perfume for Beth, and she always brought Jenny a package of Seattle's Best coffee, and she'd have to make arrangements with the kennel, again, and with Mrs. Neely across the street, for everybody else, and she needed to make sure her department ran smoothly, since holidays were a busy season for them, too.

She hated that, and it never failed, the car wrecks and the sled accidents and the icy slips and falls, and she hated it even more when she had to tell them that there was nothing she could do, and she hated it the most when she had to look into their eyes, and to tell them that their child had lost too much blood, or that their husband had too much brain damage, or that their wife had had a massive stroke or a heart attack, and that it was time to say good bye.

It's why people always doubted she was cut out for trauma surgery, she imagined, that it still kept her awake some nights – the looks on their faces, the terror in their eyes, the shock and the horror as her words penetrated their brains – and it's maybe why it didn't matter so much that she was tongue tied sometimes, since really, what was there to say, when a seven year old on his way to meet Santa Claus ended up in the morgue instead, a crinkled wish list still stuffed in the jacket with his bagged effects.

It was inevitable, she reminded herself sternly, and it was part of the job, and it was just at the tail end of an eighteen hour shift – since a flu bug had left the hospital short-handed - and it was manageable, because she'd done it before, and it was her job, and she was the go to chick in trauma, and it might have gone fine, she might have gotten through it, if she hadn't seen the boy's mother pull that list from his pocket, and smooth it out on the table, and if she hadn't read the first line, about how it was the main thing he'd wanted, a calico kitten named Max – which was already waiting for him, at his aunt's.

It was all downhill from there, and once it started it just wouldn't stop, and it was tears and regrets and pictures, and it was a long story, she told Alex, when she returned home the next evening, tears rolling down her face as she toted in a familiar cat carrier and some treats and a quivering bundle of calico fur with huge green eyes, as he just stared incredulously.

She admitted it, too, that she'd sort of promised – "no new additions" – and she admitted it, that they'd agreed the inn was full, but it was near Christmas, and he was homeless, and it wasn't like he took up much room, and he'd probably get along with Sadie – who she'd always thought could use a sibling – and sure the timing wasn't ideal, but it wasn't like Max could help that. It all poured out again after that, the sobbing mother and the distraught aunt and the crinkled list in the little dead boy's pocket, and it just didn't stop until she shoved the kitten into Alex's hands, imploring him with her glistening eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

It took her until 1 a.m. to stop sobbing, and another half hour to get the rest of the story out, and she was smiling and nodding by then – but still with the glistening eyes and possibly on the verge of another melt down, and he wasn't sure how it happened but they were on his beloved couch by then, and she was staring at him again while the kitten kneaded his gut, like it was looking for a place to settle in.

It was the last freaking thing they needed, another mottled fur ball with big green eyes acting like it had dibs on the bed, or the easy chair in the bedroom, or wherever else he wanted to be, and it didn't matter at all if Sadie needed a brother – as if that made any sense - since if she'd have thought this through at all she might've noticed that the damn thing was a girl cat, since she grew up on a farm and all – and the last thing the house needed was more estrogen and who named a girl cat Max, anyway?

Not that reasoning had any sway over chick logic, though, and it was following them upstairs an hour later, and swatting at April's socks as she packed the next morning, and staring at him the following evening when he poked into the pantry – as if Sadie had already told it where the Tuna treat stash was – and it wasn't until they were on their flight, somewhere over Kansas, when it occurred to him that at least it wasn't a giraffe, though, really, at least a pet giraffe would stay outside, and not hog the couch.

It's about what he expects from another Christmas at the Keppners' – flighty sisters and a glowering father and a stern faced mother waving broccoli at him – and he just sighs as Jenny goes on about the elections, and he just smirks when Beth flirts with him, and he just shrugs when Dani and Neil have it out again – right in the middle of the turkey and stuffing and those awesome yams, complete with thrown biscuits and some choice words that obviously shock her mother – and he shuts Cari up with one mention of the double board certification he's working on, in neo-natal as well as Peads.

It simmers down some the next day, since the girls go off shopping and three football games play in the background – none involving the Browns – and the leftovers are plentiful and there's a snow mobile out back and it's hours before the girls return, toting half priced decorations for next year and candy canes that were 75% off – the actual edible kind, not the ones she insists he hang from their porch – and more shiny crap for the already over-decorated fireplace, and enough hot chocolate packets to last a decade.

It's boring and annoying and makes him kind of antsy but it's over soon enough and they're back on the plane and at least it had finally stopped, for the most part, the questions about his own family – as if it was any of their freaking business, and the commentary on his eating habits, and the reminders that whoever her parents had expected April to end up with, he wasn't it.

Of course he wasn't, he grumbled later that evening, as they rounded up the dogs and thanked the neighbors and tossed the laundry in the machine, since it wasn't like he'd ever planned to help oversee a domestic zoo, and it wasn't like he'd ever get it – why dirty laundry had to be folded even if it was just going into the washing machine, anyway, and it wasn't like he even liked candy canes all that much.

He wasn't it, he imagined – and he wondered sometimes how much of it she heard from them – about how it just hadn't been a good idea, about how it just didn't make sense, him and her, about how it was just one of those things you did before you figured it all out, about how it couldn't possibly last, because she adopted homeless fur balls at the drop of a hat, and he watched movies about mutant sea weed.

It was none of their business, though, he reminded himself, and it wasn't like he wasn't focused on his work at least, and he was a damn good surgeon, a rock star, and he was going to be double board certified, and he could take it, he could – if she finally decided she couldn't do it anymore – because he'd done it before, more times than he could count, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen it coming.

* * *

><p>He'd get over it, she assured the kitten, as he brushed by them with a grunt, after she'd reminded him about the fabric softener. It wasn't like she ate much, and she'd already re-named her Maxine, and it wasn't like they didn't have space, she reminded him days later, and it was good for Sadie to have a sister. It simmered for weeks after that, though, and it was going on a month before she decided that it was something else entirely, and whatever it was, it was pissing her off.<p>

It wasn't like she wasn't busy enough, she grumbled to herself a month later, and it figured, she fumed the month after, that he'd be spending so much more time in neonatal then in peads, up there with the giggly young nurses, just when she was putting her new program into place for pediatric emergency management, and it was just like him to shrug and frown and go back to his work, when she told him more about it over lunch, about the counselors and the social workers and the other personnel she'd lined up to be part of her new teams.

It was a great idea no matter what he thought, she grumbled, because she'd seen it all before, families torn apart by accidents and violence and who knows what else, and it would just be more efficient to coordinate everything they'd need with teams that could handle it all, the stuff doctors usually didn't ask much about, about conditions at home and the fate of pets and funeral arrangements and organ donation and whatever else went into trauma management, when you really thought about it.

It would work, too, she was sure, and the outcomes for the patients would be better, and the hospital might even enhance its reputation as a trauma center, and it became almost all she thought about over the next month or two, as he retreated further into his neonatal training, and it kept her up nights, on the evening he'd stay at the hospital, surrounded by giggly young nurses, and she wouldn't even mention it to her sisters, because it would just incite the grapevine all over again, and it wasn't like it mattered, anyway, since she had Sadie and Maxine to keep her company.

* * *

><p>It turned out he'd misjudged her, he thought with a smirk, since she was haughty and self-assured and preferred windowsills to furniture, and would never beg for treats. She was a proper cat, he thought, nothing like Sadie, who'd crawl into his lap and knead his gut and settle in with a loud purr as he watched his science documentaries – about ghosts and lost cities, long sunk beneath the ocean, and dinosaur wars, and who wasn't about to utter a meow or two when he was anywhere near the pantry.<p>

Maxine was nothing like that, she had sass and attitude and was too proud to admit she ever wanted anything, and would even refuse Tuna Delight on occasion, just to show that she couldn't be bought.

It was his last thought before he left for work that morning, and it was another day of surgeries – and a long afternoon of charting and consults, wedged between studying for another batch of certification exams, and he just slouched into one of the rocking chairs in the NICU, somewhere around 1 a.m., and listened to the familiar chorus of monitors and respirators. It was bizarrely calming, and he smirked since it reminded him of the hours he'd spent by Izzie's bedside, waiting and wishing and hoping, before it all blew up in his face again.

It almost lulled him to sleep, until an alarm triggered and he was up in an instant, checking one of his patient's breathing. He waved off the nurse, scooped the child out of his bassinet, and sat back down with Kevin in his arms. The baby's name was spelled out in cheery blue letters, and a note from his parents was clipped to his nameplate, and he'd already been set up with a crib in the nursery – with balloons affixed to his crib, and a plush penguin – and he'd be transferred there in a day or two, and his exuberant, relieved parents would take him home soon after, to the room they'd already shown him pictures of, and told him all about, as they'd sat beside him that afternoon.

He got lucky, Alex reminded the baby – since there were people waiting who wanted him – and he wasn't like the baby they'd had in there two weeks before, who was signed over to social services without a word – and he wasn't like the kids who turned up in the emergency room, whose parents didn't really want them at all, but who wouldn't cut them loose, either, even it sucked either way.

He leaned back into the chair, frowned as he thought about it again, April's crisis management projects. It was like she hadn't thought about it at all – like with freaking Maxine – that bringing in social workers just made matters worse, that the shrinks knew nothing, and the cops never did a damn thing about the violence or the drugs, and the shark lawyers were just there to break up families, and the only thing the Child Protective Services workers were interested in protecting was their own fucking jobs.

It pissed him off royally, and he hated seeing them in the E.R., hovering like vultures, as if they had any fucking idea what they were doing, as if they ever helped anyone, as if it wasn't just all business as usual like it always was – patch them up and send them back, to get the crap beaten out of them again, or spilt them up like stray dogs, and dump them on more people who'd never want them – if there hadn't been a fucking monthly check attached to them, that they could just blow on booze. It was all good intentions, too, they'd always say, as if good intentions weren't just another word for not doing shit.

He shook his head again, and smirked as the baby yawned, pulling him closer, and ran his eyes over the room again. It was easier up here, better, where he could actually accomplish something, without being surrounded by frauds and leeches and liars, where it would actually amount to something, in a few days or maybe a week, tops, when he handed Kevin over to his parents, and let him go to an actual home.

* * *

><p>It was gnawing at her the following day, that he wasn't even around when her new program underwent it first external review for the Board, and she just snickered when she saw his name on the surgical board for four procedures, easily another 16 hour day, and she'd seen it for herself, the gorgeous new red head working in the NICU, and she was sure she'd heard it on the grapevine before, that he had a thing for red heads, and she wondered if he'd do it in the hospital with someone else, since they never had, and if it would be someplace new, like the helicopter pad or the pharmacy lock-up.<p>

She shoved it out of her mind, anyway, since it was windy on the helicopter pad and freezing in the pharmacy, and she rocked her presentations, and she was still running on adrenaline and green tea hours later, after another sleepless week or two, and it finally just all bubbled over, right where she sat in the cafeteria, well after 10 p.m., catching up on her paperwork. She stalked up to the NICU, pushed through the door, and demanded that she tell him where he was, the gorgeous red head who was fiddling with two monitors and covered in spit up and had milky formula in her hair.

The frazzled red head had no idea who "he" was at first, and it figured that she didn't even know that Dr. Karev was married – and she could've warned her that that was always how it started with Peads types – and she finally just moved on to option two, hitting pay dirt when she found him sprawled on an on call room bunk, and decided right then and there that she was going to let him have it.

It all spilled out in one big burst, like a spring down pour, about how he wasn't supporting her project, about how he wasn't pulling his weight with their family, about the gorgeous red head and his nights in the NICU and the hideous couch in the finished basement, about the dirty dishes she'd never really gotten over and the stress she was under trying to help people and her sisters' demands and Amber's rudeness and the mutant sea weed rug which was damn near impossible to vacuum.

It caught him off guard and he popped up from the bed, fuming and red faced and sputtering, and she flinched back as he sputtered something about her stupid program and her judgmental parents – as if Amber wasn't bad enough – and the way Sadie used him as a freaking easy chair, and how much he hated those candy canes and that at least he wasn't up in the NICU breaking up peoples' families and he never took her for a home wrecker and that people who drink sea weed tea shouldn't talk.

It comes back at her like a chilly wind gust and she just shrinks away as he pushes past her out of the room and she's shaking and nauseous as she gropes for the bed and she's bleary eyed as her eyes start to sting and she wonders if she'd been making it up all along – about the gorgeous red head who barely knew who he was -and if she'd just shot it all to hell, with her over heated imagination.

* * *

><p>It took a mile, under a cloudy sky, hours before day break, for his eyes to focus more clearly, and another before he finally settled into a rhythm, and another before his lungs started to burn, and another before his legs started to grow heavy, and another before he started to feel it – the bile rising in his threat, and another before he finally pulled up his run, vomiting it all up into a sewer grate.<p>

He'd get it all out, everything he'd thought might be different, sometimes, and the sound of her voice ringing in his ears, spewing a sea of wild accusations, and the fury in her voice, as she let him know what she really thought of him – when she hadn't been kidding herself about it – and the look in her eyes when she'd shrunk back away from him, startled, as if he might actually… as if he'd ever…

It bubbled furiously between the sewer grating, gallons of water rushing from the most recent rains, as if they were boiling, and the chilled air swirled around him, streaking a cool blanket of fog, and it takes him another few minutes to catch his breath, and another few to unbend his legs enough to drop onto the sidewalk's edge, leaning against the lamp post in the eerie night. It was like a scene from Invasion of the Martians III, he thought wryly, after Manhattan had been destroyed by radioactive cock roaches, and he almost glanced sideways, to catch any shadows that might scuttle across the street.

He'd expected it, he reminded himself, he'd seen it coming, he insisted, as he tried to get his racing mind to think straight, he'd been ready for it, he reminded himself – he was always ready for it, because it always came – and he'd deal with it, he muttered through gritted teeth, even if he hadn't expected it to be quite like this, even if he had been preparing for it from day one.

He doesn't come home the next day, and she doesn't expect it and his name isn't on the surgical board, and the gorgeous red head flirting with the intern in the NICU hasn't seen him this time, either, and it makes her nauseous and trembly, and she's still exhausted since it keeps her awake the moment she lies down, the voices playing it all over in her head, and it echoes around her that night, as Winston sprawls with his head on her shoes and Sadie glances curiously at the couch, before settling in beside her.

She almost breaks it to Sadie right there, that he probably doesn't miss it, since he was always grumbling about her shedding on his sweat pants, and she almost mentions it to Winston, that he was out of luck if he was waiting for cheese doodles, and she almost mentions it to Dani when she calls, that she can't even imagined where's he gone, until it hits her out of the blue, while Dani's chattering about her new boots.

It takes her longer then she expected, and she was fairly sure the whole time that she was going to regret it, and it took some talking, maybe even a little manipulation to get in at that hour – and she found him just as she'd expected, plopped in a stiff leather couch in the lounge at the psychiatric facility, watching that show about whether the Chesapeake had a Loch Ness monster, too, maybe even more than one, and whether they might even have traveled as far West as Elliot Bay.

She doesn't say it, when she sits beside him, and he doesn't say it either, just stares at the flickering screen, and it occurs to her that there really aren't any words for it anyway, since it wasn't really about the red head that really wasn't or Sadie using him as an easy chair or Winston's cheese doddle habit or the dirty glasses in the sink or his apparent inability to fold towels neatly – even though he was a surgeon – or the sea weed rug, it was about the forms she'd left on the kitchen table.

They'd never really talked about it, there'd never been time and it always seemed too soon, and she wasn't sure if he'd ever want to actually talk about it, or if they'd just let it happen, and it wasn't like he wouldn't be good at it, and it wasn't like it would be permanent, and it wasn't like he hadn't talked to the social workers about it, too, and it was a new program and she hadn't intended to actually participate in it but Katie was just six years old and had nowhere to go and a file six inches thick and it wasn't like they didn't have extra bedrooms, until the social workers sorted it all out.

* * *

><p>She just doesn't get it, that it's not about whether they have space or whether they'd be good parents – since he wouldn't be, another point she doesn't seem to get – or whether the kid's life doesn't already suck. It's that they'll just be stop number six, or eight, or whatever after the kid loses count, and it'll just make matters worse, to dump her into a home with a mob of spoiled animals while she'll be sent back in a month or two, to whatever hell hole she came from, or passed along to the next one.<p>

She just doesn't get it, that some things can't be fixed, that some things are beyond her power, that she can define trauma management however the hell she wants, but that this is just code for her getting all attached to some curly haired, gap toothed little girl whose just going to be thrown back into the system the minute her file hits some shark lawyer's desk.

She freaking doesn't get it at all, that that's all that kid is to the system – a file, and a problem, and a diagnosis, and a case number, and another in a long line of mistakes her parents made – and it's not like they can undo any of that, and it's not like the kid's some freaking fur ball that you can toss a handful of treats to and leave it at that – it's an actual kid, with a lengthy medical history and a fucked up family of her own and it's not like picking up some stray in a shelter.

She just doesn't get it – and she would if she'd just think it through with her head instead of her hormones – that it would be nothing like what she's thinking, like swing sets and doll houses and stupid little frilly dresses – that it would be more like tantrums and freak outs and nightmares – and it would be Amber all over again, or his mother, another chick beyond saving, no matter what they did.

She just didn't get it, that it was nothing like what she was imagining from her own family – that it wasn't big holiday parties and a huge tricked out house and summer camp and music lessons and horse riding – that it was screaming and blood and terror and pain and scars that never fucking closed over, no matter how hard you tried – and that there was nothing they could do about any of it.

She just didn't get it, that she couldn't do temporary – and that these things never lasted – and it would just be a matter of time before the kid would be long gone and she'd be a wreck and the kid would be wondering what she did wrong this time and April would be left cursing the unfairness of the system, as if it was a fucking system at all, and as if there was anything fucking fair about it at all, any of it.

* * *

><p>It took her an hour to mention that she'd already returned her rental car and taken a cab to the facility, and another to remind him that that meant she needed a ride home, and another twenty minutes to point out that she expected him to stay there while they discussed the situation, and a mere fifteen seconds to level a challenging glare at him, as his face darkened into a scowl.<p>

She knew it well, the scowl, and she told him point blank that it didn't scare her, and that it didn't change anything, that they couldn't save the whole world, but that they could certainly well help this one little girl, and that it certainly wouldn't tie them down forever, and that it was time they started to talk about it, anyway – the kid thing – as if it was something that might actually happen someday.

It tumbled out before she could stop it – that last part – and it almost surprised her, because she'd been too busy to think it, even with her mother's prodding and her sisters' teasing, and it wasn't like they both weren't busy in their careers. It wasn't going to just get less busy, ever, though, she'd realized over the past few weeks, until she did something about it, and it wasn't like they had forever, and it wasn't like she couldn't picture it, them with a little girl, with frilly dresses and doll houses and a swing set.

* * *

><p>It wasn't coming from him, an apology, because he hadn't done anything wrong, and she was the one who wasn't thinking about it at all – about what it would do to the kid, and to their careers, and to the domestic zoo she was already juggling – and it just boiled and bubbled and seethed inside as he stared at the television, forcing his breath into a semi-regular rhythm as she stared at him.<p>

It wasn't coming from him, either, any crap about this being a good idea – because it wasn't – and it wasn't coming from him, any bull shit about how magical kids were, because even the wanted ones weren't all that special when they were screaming their heads off or throwing up on your shoes, and it wasn't coming from him, any hint that he'd help her with the latest hare brained idea of hers, because this wasn't just another freaking furball, and it wasn't even dawning on her how far in over her head she'd be with it once she saw it up close for herself.

They were probably lying through their teeth about it, too, the social workers, since they'd say anything they needed to, to get a bad kid placed, and it was always another story in the car after they came to collect him, again, about how it was all his fault, about how he was nothing but trouble, about how this family tried as hard as they could, but that some kids just weren't worth the trouble.

They probably hadn't told her any of that, he scowled, still glaring at the television screen, about how the kid was a liar or a thief or too angry to manage, about how the kid would've been taken by someone by now, if he wasn't just some mangy stray, about how the leftovers were left over for a reason.

It wasn't coming from him, and this wasn't some carnival stuffed giraffe she wanted, and it would never be like she was swearing it would, and it wasn't coming from him, even twenty minutes later, even after she'd slipped her fingers tentatively through his, and muttered something about Winston waiting for his cheese doodles, and the fresh key lime pie in the fridge.

It was a patent bribe and they both knew it, and it baffled him that she could sit in the waiting room of a psychiatric facility – in the wreckage of his family's chaos – and think about it at all, about her and him and a kid, any kid, even a temporary one, and it made him dizzy and nauseous, that it had already started without him even noticing it until it was too late, the whole baseball and barbecues thing, even if he wasn't ready for it at all.

* * *

><p>It was quiet and awkward and uncomfortable the whole ride back, and she'd wanted to tell him about it – about her plans for day care and Katie's room and how she'd manage her work schedule – but he still wasn't having any of it. It radiated through her instead, his anger and his frustration, and she almost hoped it was about her wild accusations or Sadie's shedding or the candy canes or the alphabetized zoo treats in the pantry or towel folding, but she was sure it wasn't.<p>

She wasn't sure, exactly, though, if it was this kid in particular or the whole idea of kids in general, but it didn't much matter, since Katie arrived the next week. It was waves of chaos after that, it was dentist visits and day care consults and tantrums over bath toys and refusals to eat anything yellow and coloring books with torn pages and animal crackers crushed into the carpet and hours of phone tag, with social workers and lawyers and a child psychologist and the special needs evaluator.

It's all on her, too, since Alex spends sixteen hours a day at the hospital at least – if he can't spend more – and holes up downstairs on the rare nights he's home and just doesn't want to hear it – any of it – about how Katie's doing and how much progress she's making and how smart she is, no matter what the psychologist says, and it infuriates her to no end, when he just shrugs and asks when it will be over.

She almost snaps back that it'll be sooner than he thinks, but she's too tired and stressed to fight and one month stretches into another, and another, and she's almost getting the hang of it, the juggling of schedules and the persuasion required to get Katie to eat squash, and it's not quite as exhausting as they warned her it would be, at least, not the week she finally takes off from work entirely, just to catch her breath.

* * *

><p>He's in the last stretch and he can almost see it, the fancy letters beside his name indicating that he'd completed some of the most rigorous training in medicine. It was grueling, like the last half hour of wrestling practice – when push or puke were the only options, really – and it was making him cross eyed and fuzzy brained, the studying for the next round of exams.<p>

At least it was quiet at the hospital, he grumbled, holed up in the cafeteria at 3 a.m., reviewing symptom flow charts and the latest research in neonatal lung treatment. It was complete chaos at the house, with the zoo and the kid and April's bubbling frustration now that she didn't have time to iron all the bath towels or alphabetize the soup cans or sort the stupid little animal crackers by country of habitat.

He smirked at the thought, because he was sure Katie was nothing like she'd imagined. She was rough and tumble and hated anything frilly or pink and wouldn't sit still to color silly pictures of fairy princesses and she put the hamsters into the doll house April had gotten for her and hated yellow vegetables – on principle, as far as he could tell, and which he respected – and she was a handful and a half no matter how smart they said she was, and it wasn't like he hadn't warned her.

It would be over soon enough, though, he imagined, and she'd have gotten a good look at what it was like by then, and he doubted she'd ever be doing this again, and it might even put it off a little longer – the whole kid thing – since it wasn't like she'd be likely to forget anytime soon how disorienting it could be for her, not to have any time to put all the salad forks in the right direction in the silverware drawer.

* * *

><p>It goes on longer then she expects, and she settles into a manageable routine – even if the house is an absolute wreck, like a tornado had just swept through – and it's finally finished, the swing set in the back yard, and she peers out the kitchen window early that Saturday to see him removing the rest of the boxes it came in, and hauling them to the curb while Winston toddled curiously after him.<p>

It gave him something to do, at least, she grumbled and shook her head as she stirred her tea. It gave him another excuse to be outside, or to be at the hospital, to be anywhere but in the house, and she was getting it loud and clear, the message that he wasn't ready for it, that he might never be ready for it, that rocking his patients to sleep was one thing, and having his own child was quite another.

She shook her head again and peeked into the living room, where Katie was giggling at the early morning cartoons. It stopped her cold, sometimes, watching the faint sunlight filter in through the huge windows, tingeing her long mane of unruly curls. It was just like she imagined, she sighed quietly, even if Katie hated frilly dresses, and pink, and had converted her doll house into a hamster hotel.

It was just like she imagined, until the following week when it comes, the phone call informing her that Katie's mother is out of rehab, and is ready to take her back. It hits her like a tornado, too, and it's like nothing she was expecting, and its good news, it is, she tells Katie again and again as she packs up her things, and it will be different this time, she promises, as the little girl bites her lip, and she can still call her sometimes, April adds casually, until the social worker cuts her off with a curt shake of the head.

"It's not recommended," she whispers sharply, since the goal is to reunite the family, and of course April knows that, and she corrects herself quickly, and of course she understands, and it's not like she was expecting it to even be this long, and its gone before she knows it, the social worker's car, and its stone cold silence echoing through the house, and a nauseous roiling in the pit of her stomach, like she's about to be sea sick, and it's nothing like she expected.

* * *

><p>It echoes through the house, the scrubbing and sorting and organizing as April tries to get everything back into order. He's familiar with it – the stress cleaning – and he knows that it radiates into every nook and corner, carried on waves of ammonia and furniture polish and floor sanitizer. It fills up the recycling bins, too, coloring books, a package of little cardboard cut-out dolls, and a blank poster board.<p>

It follows her to work, too, he notices, and the interns are put through some triage drills – in case of tsunamis and malaria outbreaks and problems entirely unlikely to afflict downtown Seattle, and she snaps at the support staff in her new program, as if he hadn't warned her about it, all of it.

It tracks her back home, too, and she's still pissed at him, and she glares at the swing set he built, and sometimes she puts the bewildered hamsters into the doll house, and she burns up the phone talking to her sisters, complaining about all of it, especially about him, he imagines.

It bubbles for another month, and she doesn't mention it at all, the kid thing, and he could have told her that, too – that he'd told her so, that it was nothing like what she'd been expecting – since it was always like that with chicks, the showers and the stuffed animals and the little outfits – until the reality hit them right in the face, and the squirming bundle in their hands starts screaming at the top of its lungs, and it finally dawns on them, that it's not going to be anything like what they were planning.

* * *

><p>The call comes into her office at 2 p.m. the following month, and she's down in the Emergency Room almost immediately, and it looks like a war zone, and it takes a minute to compute that it's Katie on the gurney, sobbing quietly, and Alex across the room, with his eye already swelling shut, and a nurse on the floor bleeding, and three burly security guards holding down a thrashing mad man, while seven terrified patients look in on the commotion from around their curtains.<p>

It takes a few moments more to sort out the details, about Katie's suspicious broken wrist and her mother's screaming boyfriend and the young nurse bleeding from the superficial stab wound and the frantic debate over whether it's street drugs with her or whether he's off his meds and its statements and cops and more social workers and hushed voices and she's biting her lip when she glances over at Alex and he just rolls his good eye and nods with a sigh when she agrees to take emergency custody of Katie again.

She gets her set up with a flaming orange cast, and pops down an hour later to collect Alex, who's got a monster black eye and a concussion and seven stitches in his lip and a soft cast over the two knuckles he split. She drives them both home, sets Katie up in her room again and deposits Alex on his couch and struggles to catch her breath.

She tries to get a sense of it from Katie later that evening, of what happened when she went home, and what happened in the hospital, but she just won't talk about it. She asks about the hamsters instead, and if she can use the swings the next day, and if April still has any clothes for her – since she didn't have time to pack this time – and she says it all entirely matter of fact, like it made perfect sense for a six year old to keep her bags packed, as if she was some kind of corporate frequent flyer.

She promised Katie she'd take her to get some new clothes the next morning – and she promised nothing frilly, maybe even something orange to match her cast – and she just watched as the girl drifted off to sleep, and it was all throbbing in her head and roiling in her stomach all over again, and it occurred to her that she was in so far over her head that it wasn't even funny.

She went back downstairs moments later and checked her watch, waiting for the next time when she was supposed to wake him again, and do an impromptu neuro exam, just to make sure his concussion wasn't something more serious. It would annoy him, she noted with a smirk as she studied his face, and he'd probably insist that it was nothing, that it was just a few stitches and a few bruises , and it occurred to her that it probably was, for him, since he'd probably had much worse, even if he didn't talk about it.

She leaned back into the couch, glanced at the flickering television, and smirked again at Sadie curled beside him, and she wondered if it was some kind of rule with them, or some kind of secret code, the refusal to admit that it hurt, that any of it hurt, and what she could do about it, now that Katie was back, and she couldn't imagine it – handing her over to them again.

* * *

><p>It was probably near dawn, and his head was still fuzzy and he was still vaguely nauseous and there was a fur ball purring up a storm beside him and a little hand holding his good eye open curiously, gigging at him with a gap toothed grin, and it took him a minute to get oriented, and he was hazy on how he'd gotten on his couch, exactly, and he was stiff as hell and he could barely even move before April was shooing the little hand away and asking him how many fingers she was holding up herself.<p>

He'd say twelve, or twenty seven, if that would stop it – the throbbing in his skull and the gurgling in his stomach – but it wouldn't and he just forced himself to focus in her direction and to mutter four, which was as good a guess as any, as far as he could tell. She was shining a light into his eyes then, and asking him silly questions and he knew what a neuro exam was and he'd heard the whole trauma surgeon thing more times than he could count but this seemed new.

She asked him if he remembered any of it, too – though she was vague about what it was- and he just stared blankly as she told him lie back down. He'd been fairly sure he was lying down already, though, and it was vaguely unsettling – the sensation of falling as she moved around him and she was pushing a bottle of water into his hand moments later and poking at his lips and checking his hand, which was also sort of throbbing and whatever the hell had happened, he hoped they'd enjoyed it.

It came back slowly later that morning – after a few pop tarts – the tumult in the Emergency Room and the terrified young nurse and the hopped up lunatic with the strength of Big Foot – something she told him flat out she hoped he hadn't mentioned to the police, as if the existence of Big Foot wasn't even a legitimate scientific debate - and he just rolled his good eye again as she filled in the rest of the details as best she could, and told him he'd be out of surgery for at least two weeks.

It figured, he imagined, as he leaned back into his pillow, and it was already happening all over again – April getting all wrapped up in Katie's problems, and it sucked, it did, that she was one of those kids trapped in the fucking system that never worked for anybody – but it wasn't like she could fix it for her, since it wasn't about the kids at all – the lawyers and the counselors and the shrinks who ran the system – it was about the system, about who got paid and who got to delude themselves into thinking they were doing something, because they worked for the system.

It figured, he imagined the following day, as he listened to them out in the yard, laughing on the swing set – that April would get all stuck on her again, and the kid would get all used to it – to animal crackers and to having all the food she wanted and to her own bed and a swing set and a spoiled hamster hotel with a working door bell and a flame orange blanket for her bed – just to match her cool cast - and it would all be taken away from her again, just to keep the system working.

It figured, he imagined, the day after that, when the refrigerator was covered in pictures of Sponge Bob and all his friends – as if that was any more scientific then his documentaries about sea monsters and man eating sea weed – and someone, not mentioning any names, had beaten him to the toy in the Coco Puffs cereal, and a huge Sponge Bob Pillow Buddy turned up in the living room, plopped right on Sadie's easy chair, and it was starting to look like the inside of a freaking submarine.

It figured, he imagined the following evening, when more utter manipulation was resorted to – over the consumption of broccoli, which to be fair, wouldn't be most people's choice, either, and the afternoon after that, when April came home with a kiddie pool for the toy boats and the little plastic scuba guys – and the Aqua Man model she'd swiped from his Coco Puffs, and the day after that, when she announced abruptly that the swing set really needed a fort or a tree house.

It figured, he imagined three days later, when he could finally move around and actually do something again, that April would take off for another meeting with the social worker, while the little chatter box trailed behind him and Winston as he raked up the yard.

It figured, he muttered moments later, his stomach spilling into his shoes as April popped out of her car with another child clinging to her neck, Abbey, apparently – since that's what Katie shrieked as she ran over to greet her – and it was almost like seeing double, and he was hoping it was just his concussion getting worse, or maybe a migraine, until April was beside him chattering a mile a minute about social services and unwilling aunts and how they just couldn't separate sisters.

* * *

><p>It wasn't her fault, she was insisting moments later, and they'd just been caught up with all the paper work at the Social Services office and they hadn't mentioned anything about the sister because they thought she'd been placed and it was just temporary anyway but now she had no place to go, either, and it wasn't like they didn't have room and it all made sense if he'd just think about it.<p>

It did, she insisted, wild eyed and trying to catch her breath as she swept her fingers through her hair, watching as the girls ran to the swing set together. It would be fine, she insisted, nodding rapidly to him as she tried to steady her breathing – not that he even believed in that word, she reminded herself seconds later, wincing – and it would all fall into place, he'd see, and at least they could keep them for the time being and it wasn't like they had anywhere else to go, she reminded him again.

He looked about ready to hurl, or pass out, and all of the color was draining from his face – which was bad, she decided, since he usually turned red when he was angry – and she wondered if it was his head injury or if he was having an aneurism or a sudden bout of the flu and she was the go to chick in trauma too so she pulled out her little flashlight and did a quick neurological exam on the spot.

He was fine, he grumbled, pulling away, and it wasn't his head, he insisted, as she continued anyway, and it was all she could think to do as she slid her hand up under his chin and kissed him deeply, and it was all she could think to do, to meet him eye and to eye, and to promise him that it would all work out, and it was all she could think to do, to slide her arms around him, and to dig her fingers into the soft fleece of his sweatshirt, and to promise him unlimited Snickers bars, if he'd just help her with it, all of it.

He'd grumble about if for the rest of the week, anyway, she imagined, as she cobbled together meals, and they went to the furniture store for a cot – and came home with the bunk beds the girls fell in love with – and it was pink princess bedding for four year old Abbey, and a Sponge Bob cotton throw for Katie, just because it was there, and it was an over flowing bath tub and giggling at bed time and a glow in the dark book about friendly witches and goblins and it was 9:30 before a tenuous calm settled over the house, for the first time in days, and they finally had time to breathe.

She'd explain it, she'd promised, once they had a moment, and he was probably still waiting for it, she imagined, as she dropped onto the couch beside him while the television flickered in the back ground, and it wouldn't matter anyway – because it probably was completely insane, if she thought about it – and it wasn't like she had much to add, anyway – except that the girls wanted to know what they should call him – since her original explanation had pretty much said it all.

It bubbled between them, anyway, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen that documentary before, and it wasn't like they'd actually proved space aliens had built the pyramids, and it wasn't like he'd mind being distracted, she imagined, and he was obviously asking for it, anyway, she thought with a smirk, and she just giggled at his sudden gasp, as she slid her hand over the soft fleece covering his thigh.

It was his own fault, she insisted, the deep groan that escaped him as her fingers worked their way into the thin cloth, and it was all his doing, the shuddering moan that rippled through him as she burrowed deeper into his groin, and it wasn't her fault, she insisted as they slipped to the floor, that he was quivering in her hands after she'd undid the flimsy pant ties, and it certainly wasn't her fault, the agonizing waves that coursed through him, as her fingers and her lips continued their explorations.

It had never been her fault, she reminded herself with a smirk, that the soft fleece offered him so little defense, and it wasn't her fault that he was trembling beneath her, his eyes rocketing back in his head, and it certainly wasn't her doing, the lazy throbbing afterward, as it wedged comfortably between their bodies, and it certainly wasn't her fault, either, the sleepy smile that crawled across his face, as she traced her hands along his body, his skin tinged a deep golden red by the sheen of the fire place.

Not that she ever trusted fire places, she reminded herself with a smirk, though it had healed nicely – the curve of his hip and the base of his spine, even if that was where a lot of it settled, now, the stress of his job and the strain of standing for long surgeries – and she just traced her fingers over it, again and again, working delicately into the taut muscles, until another soft moan rippled through him.

It was never them, anyway, she reminded herself – the romantic ski chalet – and it wasn't like she'd ever admit it, but she didn't even mind it, really, the mutant sea weed rug, since it was impossibly cushy and comfortable, like a furry pillow top mattress, and it was different, anyway, when he was wrapped around her, even if he'd never admit it either, the lingering aches that went with a once fractured ass.

She smirked again, and traced her eyes and her fingers leisurely over him once more, before pulling a blanket down from the couch and wrapping it around them. It wasn't like she was embarrassed or anything, she reminded herself, and she didn't even think twice of doing it in front of Winston or the cats anymore, or even the hamsters, if they were around, it's just that there were children in the house, and the last thing she was ready for was to explain it to them, when she wasn't sure she even entirely understood it all herself, even when it wedged lazily against her, resting peacefully.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a plot, he imagined, as her lips met his, again, and it was just plain sneaky, how she curled around him afterwards, and it was manipulative as hell – the whole story about sisters and the two giggling, gap toothed red heads in the bunk beds they had entirely because April was a freaking vixen even if she'd said all that stuff about being a virgin, once upon a time – and it all coursed through as spindly aliens added the finishing touches to a pyramid on the television show still flickering in the background.

It was sheer lunacy, anyway, breakfast the next morning, and it was chaos at the day care meeting and more frantic interviews with frazzled case workers and he'd seen it all before, kids dragged from one place to another, with no idea where they were going or where their siblings were or if they'd even have anything to eat that evening, or even an actual bed.

It was more chaos later that day, as clothes were bought and appointments were made and interviews were arranged and updates flowed in, about the mother who couldn't do it anymore, about the father who just didn't want it, or them –or at least, who didn't want them more than he wanted his booze – about how Katie was already behind in reading and Abbey had nightmares and tantrums that had just over whelmed the aunt – and how it just wasn't that easy to place two kids their age.

It was the only thing any of them said that made sense, since the social workers didn't have a handle on the situation at all, and April was still talking about it like it was doing them any good, all the crap with the counselors and the psychiatrists and the day care teachers who'd never get it, that kids like them had bigger problems then whether they played nice with the other kids or whether they could read those stupid little books about fairies and princesses, when really, they were fighting to survive.

It pissed him off, and it spilled over into another evening of squabbles over vegetable eating and bed times and nightmares, and another wild evening followed, and another, of Abbey screaming them awake and hiding in the closet, shaking and tugging her pink princess throw around her as if it might somehow ward off whatever it was that was after her, since she wouldn't talk about it, either.

It was another week of counselors, too, and they just didn't get it – that she didn't talk about it with them because that wouldn't help anyway, and because it was between her and Katie, since that was all they had – and it wasn't like she had any reason to trust any of them, since it wasn't like any of them had done any good for her before.

April didn't get it, either, he grumbled the following week as he dragged out of bed, and it was milk and animal crackers again – at 3 a.m. – and at least she wasn't awake this time, or he'd hear about it in the morning, about rotting Abbey's teeth and spoiling her rotten, as if they hadn't bought a whole case of the animal crackers ,anyway, as if it wasn't as much good as another session with a shrink, as far as he could tell, as if it was his fault that Abbey actually got his cannibalism jokes – even if they swore she wasn't that smart – as if it was his fault that she had a better sense of humor then April.

It continued the following week, too, and it might have been a reprieve, at least, from April's usual Halloween decorating, but it turned out that Katie had already picked her costume, and wanted to be a pirate, and that Abbey lusted after a good witch out-fit, in pastel pink and purple, and that they were supposed to have been long gone by that point – as if anyone had ever believed that.

He just rolled his eyes the following week, as April pulled out her decorations and chattered about her candy stash, while it all sat piled on the kitchen counter like a volcano about to erupt, the forms that would register Katie and Abbey for school in their district.

He'd noticed It immediately, too, no matter how she tried to hide it – that they'd somehow become "the girls" somewhere between the night in the bunk bed store and the Halloween aisles at Target, and it had somehow become their job to hunt down book bags and matching socks, and it had become something she just said to him casually – like that it was time to rake the leaves, again – and it just set his teeth grinding and his blood boiling, that it was all going to come crashing down around them again, and when they were least expecting it – when the social workers came to collect them again.

* * *

><p>She'd imagined it once or twice, maybe a few times, Halloween with little girls – like the ones she'd had with her sisters. She'd never imagined it like this, though, with a screaming fit over costumes and a major tantrum over candy, and she just shuddered at the bloody pirate that Katie was determined to be, and she held firm on the candy, since it wasn't like Abbey wasn't getting enough sugar in her 3 a.m. cookie runs with Alex.<p>

She'd almost mentioned it to him – that she was fairly sure Abbey was just playing him, with the whole nightmares for treats thing – but she reminded herself not to comment on the pirate thing, since it was just a costume, and she bit her tongue not to compare it with Abbey's, since her mother had always done that with her and her sisters, and she'd always come out on the losing side of those, and she just wouldn't repeat it, she wouldn't, even if they weren't even her daughters.

She reminded herself of that over the next few weeks, too – that they weren't hers, and she shouldn't compare them - and it was too much of a blur, usually, to notice it, that Abbey played much better with other kids than Katie, that Katie was more independent and adventurous, that Abbey was sweet and bubbly, when she wasn't wrapping Alex around her finger like a manipulative little vixen, that Katie was blunt and out-spoken and would tell it exactly like it was, at least, in her opinion.

She'd already heard an earful from the school officials, anyway, about how Katie would fight to get her way, about how she really needed to work on her vowels, about how it wasn't working quite as quickly as they'd hoped, all the meetings with the counselors and the psychiatrists, about how it might even do her some good to go to one of their special schools, with the staffing and the resources for the kids who couldn't quite adapt to it, the kids about whom they "hated to say it," the kids who would always be too difficult, or too challenging, or too stubborn, or to unmanageable.

She heard it about Abbey, too, from the day care teachers, that she was getting the hang of it, was learning to raise her hand and share her toys and wait to be served her lunch, and that she was plainly benefitting from it, the counseling, and that she was bright and sociable, and might even be place able, even at her age. They never wanted to say it either, though, that she might find a home someday, if it wasn't for her mother's refusal to sign away her parental rights, and if it wasn't for her impossible sister.

It almost made her laugh, when she wasn't trying not to scream, and it wasn't like she disagreed, exactly, that Katie was a handful and then some – like an F-5 tornado whipping through the house – and it set her fuming all over again, that Alex was slipping animal crackers to Abbey in the middle of the night, just because she raised a ruckus, while Katie went ignored.

It drove her crazy, and it was like her and her sisters all over again – since Dani was always her father's favorite, and Beth was her mother's best friend, and Cari was their pride and joy, and even pain in the ass Jenny got more attention, while April lingered in the back ground, waiting to be noticed.

It drove her crazy, and it rattled through her mind all through Thanksgiving – the suggestions of the school officials, the stability of the girls' mother, the tree house that was suddenly springing up next to the top of the swing set – which was going to be the death of someone – and it kept her up some nights, fuming, as she imagined waking up to another morning of animal cracker crumbs on the kitchen counter and dirty milk glasses in the sink.

* * *

><p>She hadn't said it in so many words, and he was sure she wouldn't. But she hadn't been able to take her eyes off it – the tree house model she'd seen at the hardware store, when they'd gone to pick up rakes for the girls. It was April's idea, that they should have chores, and that they should have a routine, and he just grumbled and added it to the list of things she was doing that would make it all harder for her, and for the girls, when it came time for them to move on again.<p>

It was probably just as bad, he imagined, to be building the tree house, which probably wouldn't even be done before they left. But it was a cool project, and Katie was nothing like Abbey. Abbey was all frilly and lacy and pink girl crap, and she was already a little con artist, and she'd have no interest if it wasn't a fairy castle or a cottage with a white picket fence.

Katie was something else entirely, though, she was pirates and tools and work boots and she wouldn't take any crap from anyone and she'd never be the kind of chick who'd bat her eyes at some dude to get him to change her tire or build her a tree house – she'd just as soon do it all for herself – and he got it, he did, the compulsion not to ask anyone for anything, and it wasn't like the tree house kit was all that expensive and they'd already added a trap door in case of sea monster attacks.

It wasn't like she didn't get it, either – he'd noticed – since she was suspicious and wary and had her own mind about everything, and she'd watch out for Abbey as best she could – and he'd caught her smirk, about the nightmares that weren't – and it wasn't like she had any illusions about what it might mean for her, a tree house, since they were temporary, too, when you got right down to it.

He reminded himself of that the following month, too, when he finally snagged it – the choice Lego pirate ship, complete with octopus and net and mermaids – even if it was over-priced and not on the list April had given him. It wasn't like it'd hurt anything, he insisted, as he picked up two of the Speedy Red Spinner Saucer Deluxe sleds, either, for her to have a Christmas where she wasn't just the spare kid dropped into some random, annoyed adult's house – like one of Santa's misfit toys that no one wanted.

It wasn't like she'd like any of the crap April had listed, anyway, like that stupid educational toy to help her reading – as if she couldn't read just fine when it was instructions to build something cool – and it wasn't like she was anything like Abbey, he reminded himself, nodding as he snagged the Pink Barbie Dream Townhouse, the fancy model with the pool and the working doorbell, which Abbey would like much better than the simple cottage, which didn't even have interior stairs.

* * *

><p>It figured, April grumbled days later, examining his haul – stashed safely in the laundry room – while the girls were at school. She should have expected it, since he couldn't even stick to a grocery list, and it just drove her crazy, that he was totally spoiling them, when really what they needed was chores and more structure, and lessons in how to earn what they wanted, and not to be catered to by an over-grown five year old with a credit card let loose in a toy store weeks before Christmas.<p>

It was her fault, she admitted days later – as she went to the toy shop herself, to snag what had actually been on her list – the reading game recommended in Young Einstein magazine, which would be perfect for Katie, the Easy Bake oven for Abbey, so that she could actually learn something productive, instead of playing with a big boobed blonde doll in an impossibly stylish house that would never see sea weed shag carpet or animal crackers crumbs - not that she wasn't already envisioning broken bones and chipped teeth, possibly organ donor forms, thanks to the spinning red Super Deluxe Saucer death traps he'd already given them – well before Christmas – since they were already knee deep in snow.

It was her fault, she decided – because it wasn't like he was a pediatric surgeon, or anything, and hadn't already seen up close what those sleds could do – and it would be just like him to encourage piracy and big boobed blonde fantasy – when really he should be encouraging the girls to work on their reading and math skills. Not that she should expect that, either, she reminded herself with a smirk, since he probably already had them believing that sea monsters lived in the creek behind their house, though, to be fair, she was fairly sure he believed that himself.

She should have seen it coming, anyway, she reminded herself, the day before Christmas – and she probably should have warned him about it, since she'd seen it unravel her father once or twice – cryptic instructions written in French or Swedish or Swahili - but it was just like him not to admit it, and to growl that he'd fix it himself, and that he didn't need it – the emergency toy building hot line – and to spend two hours finally getting the fancy staircase into the Dream House right side up, since it shouldn't be all that complicated, since it was "just a toy" and all.

She should have seen it coming anyway, she reminded herself hours later, after everything had finally been put together and wrapped – the agonizing shudders that rippled through him as he trembled beneath her – because it would be hours until the girls were up to see what Santa had brought them, and it wasn't like Santa hadn't already had a busy night, and it wasn't like it would even be Christmas eve, without the deep murmurs that escaped him as she tugged him closer.

She giggled at his sleepy smirk, traced her fingers lazily along his body, and rolled her eyes again as she imagined it, Katie's pirate ship sailing past Abbey's dream house, and it was nothing like she'd ever imagined, either - her first Christmas with kids in the house – and it was nothing like any Christmas eve she'd ever imagined, period, sprawled on a sea weed rug with a sleepy Santa curled around her – spare decals from a Barbie dream house still stuck to his arms – as it throbbed lazily wedged between them.

* * *

><p>It was chaos and madness, and an explosion of snowman wrapping paper and little plastic pirates and Barbie shoes and the shredded remains of the dogs' holiday bones and the cats' new toys; it was a new wheel for the hamsters and a new bowl for the fish and Christmas pecans for the squirrels and sun flower seeds for the birds and a new pot for the cactus and whatever the hell it was – as the girls ran screaming through the living room, hyped up on candy canes – it was better than being in Ohio.<p>

It almost shocked him, really, that she hadn't insisted on it – trekking the girls across the country to meet her parents, and he supposed it was a good sign, really, that she was getting it, that it was all just temporary, that it was just a matter of time before their mother re-claimed them or the juvenile courts reassigned them or they were split up and sent who the hell knew where.

It was just a matter of time, but he had it out with the freaking school counselor a few weeks later, anyway, because she just didn't get it – that Katie could read just fine when she was interested, that it was no big freaking deal that she liked pirates more than the usual chick crap, that it wasn't her fault if the other kids weren't standing up for themselves, and that it wasn't like she needed any more shrinks when she was perfectly okay just like she was, even if she hogged the Legos.

It made his blood boil the next month, too, and he didn't hide it in the quarterly interviews and visits by the child protective services, either, that she'd do great if they'd just leave her the fuck alone, that she was smart as hell and crazy sarcastic and it was the school's fault if she was too energetic for them and it certainly wasn't her problem that she didn't like reading the crap stories they sent her home with, about families – like the one she didn't have – and fairy princesses – as if anyone ever believed that nonsense – and talking dogs, as if she didn't spend enough time with April's in-house zoo to see that the only thing Winston ever uttered was the occasional burp after his cheese doodles, even if Gracie and Tobey still barked at the mail lady like she was a freaking sea monster coming to steal their Frisbees or something.

It annoyed the hell out of him, too, to hear April agreeing seriously with the "experts," as if she thought there was something wrong with Katie, too. She wasn't like that with Abbey, not at all, and it bugged him to no end that she treated Abbey different just because she was into dolls and dresses and glittery chick crap, as if that meant she was better adjusted or a better kid altogether, as if it would determine Katie's whole future or something, that she'd rather play in the tree house than read a stupid book.

* * *

><p>It was making her a nervous wreck, the hearing scheduled for early May. It would be all about how they were doing, about their school reports, and the assessments of their counselors; about their art work and their math skills and their willingness to share with their classmates and their table manners and it would be all about them, too – about whether they were taking care of them, and whether they were spoiling them, and whether they were a stable home for them, and what would happen if their mother successfully finished her current stay in rehab, and if she'd even want them back when she was done.<p>

It all swirled around her and she thought about it at work – when other kids just like them came in, and then went off to who knows where – and she thought about it at home – when she watched them off exploring the yard and the creek, or playing with the swings or the tree house, or giggling at Alex's documentaries – and she thought about it in the middle of the night, during the late night animal cracker runs that should have stopped months before, when the nightmares had, technically.

She had nightmares of her own now, though, of sea monsters carrying the girls away, of having to ship their toys off to some new house, of hearing it from the counselors and child psychiatrists, that Katie would never really trust anybody, that her and Abbey could never be placed together, that it was all their fault, too, since Alex was spoiling them and she was running an in-house zoo and they both had demanding jobs and how could they learn anything school wise, really, living with someone who believed space aliens build the pyramids in Egypt, possibly aided by Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster.

It all made her head spin, and she imagined the interviewers spotting the sleds in the shed out back – and hauling them up on child endangerment charges – and she could barely talk to her sisters about it, either, since they'd sent gifts for the girls, too – cowboy boots and Knicks gear and little toy medical kits and books about animals, colorful sweaters and dolls from France and anatomy models and puzzles – and it was like they had an in-house toy shop, as well as a zoo, and it wasn't like she could explain it all away, anyway, even if she'd done it with Santa himself, right there under the Christmas tree.

It makes her crazy, too, that Alex is rude and impatient and defensive and tells them point blank what he thinks of them all, as if she hadn't seen that coming, and she's sure they'll take that into account, too, that the girls live with a hot head, and she's sure he doesn't see it at all – and would deny it in a heart beat – that Katie may not get it from him, but that it might seem like that, if you had to live with them.

She doesn't say it, though, just listens and nods and signs more paper work and glares at him when he hesitates and it's not like they can back out of it now, and it's not like they can do anything about the girls' mother and it's not like they can see into the future but it's not like they have anywhere else to go and it's not like they have any choice and it's not like she'd seen this coming.

* * *

><p>He ignored it, the daggers she was shooting at him with her eyes, and he frowned and rubbed his hands over his face again and stared at the forms in front of him. It was just a legal technicality, she insisted, a shift in status from emergency care providers to long term foster care, and he couldn't quite tell if she was lying to herself about it or if she actually believed it, that it was just a formality, and that it didn't set up all kinds of expectations for the girls, and that it was perfectly normal for her to pick them up on the last day of school the next month, and register them again, as if it wasn't all a freaking house of cards.<p>

He ignored it, and he stared at the line for his signature instead, and it made him nauseous, because he'd seen it, in ways she could never imagine, the kids he'd been thrown into the system with, the kids who still thought there was some end to it, to all the crap coming and going and the garbage bags toting their stuff and the state workers who'd pick them up and move them along when it "didn't quite work out, this time," as if it ever did, as if it might be any different the next time, after the tenth time, or the eleventh, or the twelfth, as if it ever did anything but suck all around.

It made his hand shake some, and it made his legs tremble, and it followed him to work the next day, to another new born who was desperately wanted by her parents, and a second who was discarded by his, and it was there all over again, the crap shoot that determined whether any of them got a decent shot or not, and it wasn't like he could do anything about it, since it wasn't like the crap parents would ever stop coming, and it wasn't like their kids ever stopped paying for their mistakes.

It made his head hurt, and he listened to it at lunch – to Meredith chatter excitedly about her daughters, who were already practicing beginning surgical stitches, despite her best efforts to discourage them, she claimed, and to Yang grumble about her son, who still hadn't mastered the name of every bone in the human body, though he was almost ready to start kindergarten – and it was there, too, the kids who got all the advantages and the kids who got crap, and it wasn't like he could do anything about that, either.

April didn't get it anyway, he insisted again later that evening, as she signed the forms and stuffed them into the neatly labeled envelop – as if she had a receipt or a warranty for the girls – that it was just going to make it harder when they did leave, to see what it could be like, and to have it ripped away like it had never happened at all, the pirate ship and the dream house and the Super Sliders and the Halloween costumes and the bunk beds and the daily meals, as if it was never meant for them in the first place.

He went out into the yard, picked up his shovel and began digging anyway, hoping they'd have it done soon. It was deep enough for the foundation, and the concrete guys would pour it that weekend, and the pond kit was already in the shed, and it'd have little turtles and big Koi fish and it was much more complicated then he'd imagined before they started it, but Katie had been determined, and it would make a nice noise, and at least it wouldn't add to the indoor zoo, at least, not year round.

It drove April crazy, anyway, he reminded himself ten minutes later, after Katie had grabbed her own shovel and started digging determinedly beside him, that Katie would end up giggling and tired and covered in mud, and dusty from the rocks they'd hauled up from the creek, and it would be just like her, to squawk about Katie just because she wasn't frilly or glittery or afraid of bugs.

* * *

><p>It was almost finished, April noticed in late August, and she'd expected it to be a complete mess, which it was, and it would've driven her crazy, if Katie wasn't avidly flipping through her books about fish and frogs and turtles, and carefully selecting the occupants for her aquatic city, and giggling as she planned pirate ship voyages and deep sea adventures for all her little Lego people, even the Mermaid, which, April imagined, wasn't entirely age appropriate, but still got Katie liking books some.<p>

It was almost finished, April noticed, as they wandered through the pet shop, and Katie and Abbey chose some ornate Koi, and Abbey selected a miniature bridge for beside the waterfall, and they both debated eagerly about names and food types and color patterns and what made a fish "cool," exactly, aside from they're being cold blooded, Katie added smugly to the salesperson, while Alex smirked beside her.

She almost jabbed him right in the ribs, because it was insufferable when he did it, the whole smart alec thing, and the last thing she wanted was Katie emulating it, and it hadn't really occurred to her before, that Katie already had his smirk, and she wondered abruptly if there was time to reverse it, or if it would spread to sweet little Abbey, too, and the thought teased her all the way home and followed her into the house, as she delivered the treats she'd picked up for the rest of the family.

It swirled around her later that evening, too, like the fire flies flitting across their yard, as the girls placed the Koi in the pond, and happily discussed whether they liked each other, and whether they could train them to do tricks – like Gracie and Tobey, or whether they'd be lazy like Winston – and if they'd like to play with the Hamsters' rolling ball, or be afraid of the pirate ship and the mermaid, or whether they'd like to meet Noah and Nadine, and if they could use Barbie's hula hoop.

It made her giggle, even if they were getting all muddy, and it made her roll her eyes, the mud they tracked into the house afterwards, and it made her raise her voice, their chatter between the bunk beds as she reminded them three times that it was past their bed times, and it almost startled her, to find Katie with a flashlight and a book ten minutes later, looking for fish that exactly matched hers, and it made her exhale heavily, when she finally got a minute's peace, and it almost made her phone her mother, just to apologize for tracking in mud and chattering with her sisters after bed time and having so many pets as a child and basically driving her crazy.

It was too late for that, though, and a sliver of moon still hung in the crystal clear sky and it was still fire flies and cicadas when she crawled into the hammock, and wrapped her arms around him. It was beating steadily under her ear as he pulled her closer, and its rhythm was steady and clear as his lips brushed her hair, and it was almost hypnotic, the flowing of the little waterfall in the girls' pond, and it still wasn't anything like she'd imagined, that she'd ever consider doing it outside, in a hammock, beside a toy waterfall and an armada of Lego pirates.

* * *

><p>It had to stop, and he'd know it even if April hadn't been hinting at it for the past two weeks – that it was only another week before schools started, and that Abbey would be going all day this year, and that it couldn't continue, the whole night time raid on the animal cracker supply. He'd tell it to her straight, he reminded himself that night after he'd poured the milk, and she'd get it, because she was smart like her sister, and it wasn't like she wasn't excited about going back to school all day, anyway, in a way that just made Katie roll her eyes at him and smirk.<p>

He got it, too, Katie's point, and he'd already seen it, another year of teachers nagging at them about her reading and her penmanship and her fidgeting in class, and she just didn't need to be drugged or counseled, no matter what they said, and it was just part of being a freaking kid, not even a kid like her, a kid period, and you'd think they'd get it, since they were supposedly the kid crap experts.

He listened quietly to the clock ticking, and he watched as Abbey savored her crackers – saving the tigers, her favorites, for last, as usual – and he swapped her his apes for her rhinos, his favorites, and she giggled as Winston toddled in, waiting for his cheese doodles, and she laughed as Sadie wandered in a moment later, purring and rubbing against them and begging for a tuna treat, and it was all part of the routine, and he wondered idly if he should break it to all of them together, that it had to stop.

He says it flat out, as she's finishing her drink, and she just nods seriously and wide eyed, like she gets it, and she giggles again, when he informs the rest of the crew, and she's already yawning as he follows her back up the stairs, and it hits him light a shotgun blast to the chest as he sloppily tucks her back in, the muffled, sleepy "thanks, daddy" that echoes around him as she burrows into her pink princess pillow.

It jars him as he pulls his hands back, and it makes him queasy as he makes his way back to their room, and he debates whether to wake April and tell her about it – that's it already freaking started, even though they'd been Alex and April to the girls for over a year – that it was just going to get worse from here, that maybe Abbey didn't get it, that it wasn't a permanent thing, that maybe they should sit the girls down and tell it to them straight, all of it, that it was just a matter of time.

It rattled his brain, and he might have said something if the words didn't curdle in his throat, and it kept him awake for the next two hours, tossing and turning, and a silvery dawn was already breaking when he finally drifted off, and it only seemed like moments later before April was shaking him awake, and asking him what that was all about the night before, all the tossing and turning, and he just stared at her blankly, scowling, since it might not have even happened, and it wasn't like that hadn't happened before… Karevs hearing things, and "it was nothing," he mumbled, brushing her off as he dragged out of their bed.

* * *

><p>It had only taken a month this time, for the first note to arrive home from Katie's teacher. It was more nicely worded this time, about how bright Katie was, and what a challenge she was to teach, and how energetic she could be, and April had heard it all before, and she just rolled her eyes and wrote the date and time in her day planner, and she'd take care of it herself, this time, the inevitable visit to the school, because the last think she needed was for Alex to get all defensive and hot headed again, when really what Katie needed was to sit herself down and do her class work.<p>

It was a beautiful building, with gleaming floors and brightly lit hallways lined with student art work and posters about tooth brushing and environmental conservation and the importance of clean hands. It had all the rules clearly posted, too, in big block print, and April just shuddered, sure that that was just more inducement for hard headed, must push the envelope and test peoples' limits at all costs Katie to act up while the other kids were coloring neatly within the lines or writing their little book reports.

It was the same story it always was, too, and she just eyed Katie sternly as the teacher talked, and it all started in the car all over again, about how school was boring and the teacher was mean and the other kids were all just suck ups, a word she must have gotten from Alex, and it all made April wince, since she'd heard that one about herself more times then she could count. She was sure Abbey heard it, too, Abbey who always got gold stars for her positive attitude and work habits, and who would always be a teacher's favorite without even trying, and who would always be more manageable and more sweet tempered and more…pleasant.. then high strung, opinionated Katie.

It followed them into the yard that afternoon, too, as Katie tossed her back pack aside and charged out to tend her fish, and Abbey went off to feed the birds and explore the creek, with Winston and an impossibly over-dressed Barbie in tow, and it just baffled April, as she fussed over her flowers, how the two of them could be related at all, and it almost made her pull out her phone right there, and make a desperate call to her mother, to ask her how she handled impossible Jenny or manic Beth, since really, sometimes she wasn't sure how she was related to her own sisters, either.

It spilled over into October, too, and another note came home, this one suggesting a reading list, and tips for home study, and possibly getting Katie a tutor, or maybe having her professionally evaluated for a reading disorder. She'd gotten home late that evening, though, too late to intercept it, and Alex was already fuming about it, and it was all she could do to calm him down, and scan the list, and suggest that maybe it wasn't such a bad idea, to try a few of the books the teacher suggested.

It simmered all through dinner, and they went off to the mall afterwards, and she just rolled her eyes as he toted Katie and Abbey off to the aquarium shop three doors down from the bookstore. She looked over the suggested list, anyway, giggling when she re-read the teacher's note about how Katie seemed to have an interest in science fiction, and wondering briefly if Katie had said anything about space aliens building the pyramids or sea monsters inhabiting the creek behind their house.

She found it, anyway, the section on children's books, and it figured that the ocean and space adventure ones she found all seemed above her grade level. She picked up a few anyway, with colorful covers and garish looking heroes, and she added a few books about animals, and a Sponge Bob story, and a fairy princess tale for Abbey, who would read any book covered in pink glitter and gauzy lavender feathers.

It took her all of forty five minutes to make her selections, and she was just leaving the shop when the girls came racing toward her, clutching some new treasures in sea blue bags. She didn't even ask, didn't even frown at him, and it was a quiet ride home until they spilled eagerly out of the car. It was still light out, and prime lightning bug catching weather, and it should have been time for reading, she thought, as she watched them run toward the pond.

It figured, she realized moments later, raising her eyebrows at him as the girls carefully out-fitted their fish haven with a Sponge Bob Pineapple house and bright pink coral, with a sunken pirate ship and a dinosaur head and a bubbling scuba diver. It figured, she imagined, as she put her bag down beside the deck and crawled into the hammock, that she'd spend nearly an hour picking out books for them, while they'd spend their evening surrounding some bewildered fish with an underwater playground.

It figured, she sighed heavily, glancing over at Alex across the yard, scavenging for more river rocks while Winston toddled after him, waiting patiently for the treats he'd no doubt bought for the dogs while they were at the mall, that big boobed Barbie lived in a pristine Townhouse with perfect floors, while her own home hosted the only pond on the block that featured Pineapple houses and skull evidence of ancient sea monsters half buried in the sediment, with the price tag still attached.

* * *

><p>It wasn't actually that bad, Katie had agreed the following month, book four of the Space Pirates from Mercury series, and he was relieved he'd manage to snag it – the next book in the series, since it was a best seller – and it wasn't like he cared, exactly, how the two dudes trapped in the underwater caves escaped from the giant octopus, in time to stop the solar system from spinning into a giant black hole. But it had been on the list and all, the book, and he could read it with her without rolling his eyes at glitter and gauze and fairy dust, and it wasn't like it was boring, like those castle and white knight stories that Abbey and April seemed to prefer, as if any of that could actually happen.<p>

It wasn't that bad, and it wasn't over board this year, the Halloween decorating – since another hearing about the girls was coming up, and April was freaked, about their hand writing and their table manners and whether they could color neat pictures and whether they were eating enough vegetables and what the school would say about them – and it was all just crazy, the forms and the interviews and the legal crap, while the girls just hung in limbo, like the whole damn system didn't give a fuck about them, as long as their mother got however many chances she needed to make it through rehab, again.

It pissed him off, and it annoyed him even more when it followed him to work – the whole freaking system – and evaluated his hours and the day care options and the availability of emergency care if he and April were both tied up with medical emergencies, and he just cringed and rolled his eyes and fidgeted as Mere and Yang – Yang? – noted that they would both be willing to step in if available.

It was absurd, because April had an army of annoying sisters, and Amber phoned in a terse message every few months or so, though he didn't recall ever mentioning the girls to her, and it wasn't like they worked over-lapping shifts all that often, and it wasn't like the hospital didn't have emergency, round the clock day care for its staff – precisely in case of emergencies, he'd emphasized through gritted teeth – and it wasn't like Mrs. Olson next door didn't love the girls, and it wasn't like Mrs. Jensen across the street wasn't always trying to stuff them with oatmeal cookies, which, to be fair, were awesome.

It wasn't like any of it mattered, anyway, he reminded himself, grumbling as he returned back up to the NICU, since it would all screw them over in the end, the girls – the whole fucking system – because it was all about keeping families together, even if that was just code for sending kids back into war zones, and it was all about breaking families up, even if that was just code for taking whatever placement they could get for kids who were too old or too active or too energetic or too unfocused or too much of a challenge or too much or too little of whatever the hell people wanted, from the kids nobody wanted.

It pissed him off, and it gnawed at him at lunch, as April chattered nervously about how it was going, and she talked about it like it was just one day – as if it hadn't already been a huge chunk of the girls' lives, over a year and a half – and she talked about it like it was just a series of forms and checklists and another round of reviews, as if it wasn't the lifeblood of the whole fucking system, moving people around like little chess pieces, just because it had the fucking power to do it.

It ticked him off, but at least it was over two days later, and it was all about costumes and candy and plastic pumpkins after that, and it was all about Katie the girl archeologist, and Abbey the little mermaid, and it was all about swapping Gummi bears and Skittles for Kit Kats and Snickers bars, and it was all about the scary old haunted house up the street, and it was all about ghosts slipping through the back yard and bats fluttering in the trees and the on-going debate over whether the Great Pumpkin was actually real – and from earth – and it all wound down into a giggling, hiccupping fit or two, as costumes were hung back up and make up was removed and a full moon loomed over the tree line.

It wasn't at all predictable, either, he nodded, fishing a little bag of M&Ms out of the bowl after he and Katie had finished book six, that the two dudes who escaped the underwater sea cave – thanks to a volcanic lava stream – were now trapped in the reddish clay crust along what would become one of Mercury's oceans - if only the temperature would rise fast enough – and that it was still looking grim for them, and that the mall book store had better have book seven in stock when they got over there the next day.

* * *

><p>She just couldn't do it, not again, not this year. She couldn't spend another Christmas without visiting Ohio, even if it earned her eye rolls from Alex and baffled expressions from the girls, who understood where Ohio was, theoretically, but probably worried that Santa might not find them there, even if Santa had already apparently opened up a branch office in their laundry room.<p>

It just wasn't an option, even if it meant packing up two young girls and hauling them across the country, even if it meant the inevitable awkward introductions and questions, about how it was going with them – whatever it was – about the girls' mother – and what they would call the gray haired strangers who couldn't be anything but Mr. and Mrs. Keppner, really, since it wasn't like they were grandparents – no matter how much April's mother pushed that particular point – and it wasn't like she had much to tell them about it, since it was all still a legal matter, when you got right down to it.

It was nothing like she'd expected – her first visit home with two little girls, and it was exactly as she expected, with stilted conversations and uncomfortable throat clearing and clumsy non-questions from her fumbling sisters, who couldn't ask the girls about any of it, really, without making it all worse. It was nothing like what she expected, either, that brash whirlwind Katie actually perked right up around Cari and Jenny, gabbing happily, while usually sweet and out-going Abbey clung to Alex, burrowing into his sweater and glancing warily at anyone who cast a glance in her direction.

It wasn't what she expected at all, but it figured that Katie would be the star, while Abbey would bury her face in Alex's chest. It wasn't what she expected at all, that Jenny and Katie would end up as instant best friends, while Abbey whispered into Alex's ear, holding him tight until he pulled out an emergency stash of animal crackers, which she accepted eagerly, after they'd moved to a quiet corner.

It was business as usual by the next morning, though, as pancakes were made and it was confirmed that the cookies and carrots left out for Santa and his reindeer were missing. April smirked at that, imagining it was strictly true, since she was fairly sure Alex had snagged the cookies – and that the fate of the carrots would remain forever a mystery – and her family was as determined to spoil the two little girls as he was, apparently, since her sisters had cornered the market on pirate accessories for Katie and Beth had decided that it was the perfect time to turn Abbey into an amateur photographer.

It was better by then, April noticed, since Abbey could venture a few yards from Alex without panicking, and the ornate trees in the bay window – and the living room and the den – fascinated them, and it was as good a time as any, she imagined wryly, for them to notice the stockings hung on the fireplace with their names on them, and the Christmas ornaments that had been selected and hung just for them.

She hadn't done it herself, had resisted any such urge, to start it at their house – her mother's tradition, of adding an ornament for each child, each year, with their special interests. It was like a museum, she noticed later, or a three dimensional scrapbook, the hulking tree in the den, with the camera ornament, for the first year Beth had started taking pictures, and the orchids, for the year April planted her own garden, and the Scooby van, for the year Cari was obsessed with him, and the Ken doll for Dani, which had always been self-explanatory, and Jenny's White House from the 1982 elections.

She wouldn't do it, she reminded herself, not that year, not just yet – not and jinx it – not that she was superstitious or anything, not when it was all still so unsettled, where they'd be in a week or a month or a year, if it all went wrong. She wouldn't do it, she reminded herself, and she'd promised Alex, and she'd believed it, that it would just be temporary – and she wouldn't do it, lie to him – and it wasn't like she'd expected it to be this long, and it wasn't like she could imagine it any other way.

It wasn't like that, she insisted, wandering back into the living room, where Abbey dozed in Alex's arms, while a basketball game flickered across the television. It wasn't like he'd exactly volunteered for it, and it wasn't like she hadn't pushed him, and it wasn't like he hadn't warned her, that the system never got it right, and it wasn't even like she knew what right was, exactly, since it wasn't like she wanted to take the girls from their mother, and it wasn't like that had ever been the plan, and it wasn't like she should be doing it now – envisioning another Christmas in Ohio, with Katie and Jenny arguing over everything, while Abbey trailed animal cracker crumbs across her mother's favorite rug.

It wasn't like that, she reminded herself the next day, as she and her sisters and her mother took the girls on an after Christmas shopping adventure, and it wasn't like it meant anything, the Mermaid ornament she picked up for Abbey, and the Scuba diving Santa she snagged for Katie, since they were seventy five percent off, and she couldn't pass it up, anyway, the Loch Ness monster ornament with the candy cane in his mouth, and it wasn't like they didn't put a tree up every year, anyway, and it wasn't like it would hurt them, to imagine them glittering in the fire place light, on the tree back home.

It wasn't like they'd even count at all, she insisted, since she wasn't the one who decided that Katie could handle a thirty gallon aquarium, and she wasn't the one who out-fitted Barbie and all her busty friends with an entire stable of horses, and a flashy red convertible, and it wasn't like she was the one who decided that Abbey might like an entire fantasy castle – with a full complement of princesses and knights and shining armor – and it wasn't like Santa hadn't already lost his mind completely, if he thought Katie had any business building an actual working volcano model - even if it was in the book they'd been reading.


	10. Chapter 10

It wasn't the biggest mess in any home, ever, and it was an educational toy – which is what she was always squawking about, anyway, and it wasn't like the fish would be scarred for life, and Katie was doing a great job with her two smaller aquariums, so it wasn't like she couldn't handle a bigger one, and so what if the den bubbled like a coffee pot on steroids, did the hermit crabs even have ears?

It wasn't like it kept her too busy, either, since she was kicking butt on the soccer field, too, and April could cover her eyes all she wanted as they sat in the stands, but Katie was obviously the best player on the team. She was on the smaller side, sure, but she was smart and fast and fearless and she never backed down from the bigger girls and she never flinched when the ball came in her direction and she'd score just on sheer determination alone and so what if the coach said she had attitude, that's what all great athletes had and it wasn't like she'd be nearly as good otherwise.

He was not favoring Katie, either, no matter what April said. He went to Abbey's swim meets, too, and she was a freaking fish, and he watched her play a flower in one of her class plays and so what if he couldn't remember exactly what type, since it wasn't like he was a freaking florist and they were all just weeds when you got right down to it, but he went, when Abbey was a weed, and he made Katie go, too, and it wasn't like he said it was any less important than soccer practice or river rock hunting.

It wasn't like that at all, he grumbled the following month, after April had insisted to him yet again that Abbey's budding love for cactuses wasn't any less interesting than Katie's fish fascination - as if he hadn't already gotten Abbey a pink one for her bedroom and a yellow one for the den – to give the fish something to look at – and that purple, lumpy one she kept by her bed, the one he was fairly sure would turn out to be a carnivore no matter what her "Cacti of the World" book said.

It was nothing like that, he muttered, as they went sledding again – despite April's protests – and it wasn't like he went slower with Abbey than he did with Katie just because she was younger or liked prickly weeds, it was just that Katie was more adventurous and Abbey was more neurotic about ice patches and speeding – like someone else he knew, actually, not mentioning any names – and the same rides that would've bored Katie would've scared Abbey and what was he supposed to freaking do?

It wasn't his fault, that the girls were so different, and it wasn't like it made any sense to pretend that they weren't, and he wouldn't bring home a new soccer ball – or a swordfish – for Abbey any more than he'd bring home a Barbie cactus – since they make freaking everything for Barbie and her friends, he'd learned over the past two years – or pink, sparkly stickers for Katie because they might be sisters but they were nothing like each other and it wasn't like he was just going to ignore that so that April could shut up about it, already, about how Dani always got more cake than her at birthday parties.

It was nuts, anyway, since she knew her sisters were basically crazy, and nothing like her, and it wasn't like her parents were conspiring to withhold the frosting from her, he was sure, and it all rattled around in his head, simmering, until she called him into their bathroom, trembling, and told him she wasn't quite sure how she could explain it, exactly, but there it was, right in front of him.

* * *

><p>It wasn't part of the plan, not that they had a plan, exactly, and it wasn't what she was expecting at all, even after she bought the test, and she wasn't even sure it was accurate, exactly – except that she'd kind of known it all along, or at least, suspected – and she just held it in front of her as he stared blankly, while she told him it was probably two months along.<p>

It was insane, and it was horrible timing, and it was mad – since they had the next round of meetings with the lawyers and the social workers and the counselors coming up – and it might look like they were trying to steal someone else's kids, even if they were having one of their own, and it might look like they'd want to move on, and it might look bad, or good – she couldn't tell – if it would look like they just wanted a big family, or if it would look like they just didn't plan things out, or if it would look like they'd be completely overwhelmed – judging just from the color draining from Alex's face.

It would be fine, she almost said, before stopping herself. He'd be a great dad, she almost said, since he already sort of was, except that he still sort of wasn't, and that had been a sticking point between them from the moment it started – with the girls – whatever it was, and whatever it was, she wished he'd say something, just so she'd have something to go by, his choice of words or the tone of his voice, so that she could tell if it was a good thing, for him, or if it was more cause to panic.

It was probably both, she reminded herself a moment later, since he still seemed vaguely bewildered –like he didn't quite know how it could've happened, even if it happened pretty frequently, especially after they'd soundproofed the basement, and her mind raced to that part, too, to how they'd tell the girls about it, without explaining it to them – in more detail than she'd expected to get into for years, possibly decades – and it hit her that all the panic she was sensing might not even be coming from him.

It lingered between them, until he stammered something about it being good, and something about him being late for work, and it was trembly, his voice, as her lips met his, and he was still shaking slightly when her arms slid around him, and it was there a moment later, a shy, stubbly smirk, and it was there in his eyes when she pulled away again, the kaleidoscopic swirl of green and yellow and brown and gold, of fear and bafflement and uncertainty and halting hope that always dropped her own heart into her shoes, as she took his face in her hands and kissed him again, nodding eagerly through salty tears.

It would be fine, she reminded herself later that afternoon, after she scrubbed out of her own surgery. Plenty of the other surgeons were mothers – of babies – and there was day care and she could take some time off and they had plenty of room at the house, even if the den had been converted into what she'd taken to calling Atlantis 2.0, crowded as it was with Katie's fish tanks and hermit crabs and shell collections, with Lego pirates and little plastic models of deep sea monsters and books about aquarium maintenance, with Abbey's cactus over flow and Barbie's Island resort and river rocks and driftwood.

It would be fine, she insisted, over the next few weeks, as she made appointments and chatted non-stop with her sisters and mother, and she wouldn't show any favoritism – unlike some people – no matter what their child was like, and she'd put a stop to it immediately this time – Alex's compulsion to spoil the kids rotten, while snagging the breakfast cereal toys from them – and it would be different this time, she insisted, though how – she wasn't quite sure.

It would be fine she insisted, the following month, and it was business as usual with the lawyers and the social workers and the counselors, and it was starting to show – her pregnancy – and news about it had already spread through the grape vine like wild fire, and it had finally come – the time to explain it to the girls – and it was more awkward than she could possibly have imagined and then some – and it almost stopped her cold, the darkening of Katie's features, as she told them about the new little girl or boy who would be joining them soon, and she knew it right then and there, it was the cake frosting all over again.

* * *

><p>It was inevitable, he imagined a week later, as he rooted through the pantry. Abbey's "nightmares" would return, and Katie would pick fights at soccer practice, and flunk a book report that she could write in her sleep, while it all just gnawed at them – that they weren't the real kids, they were the temps, that they weren't the kids parents built nurseries for, they were the ones who got shipped out for placement with random strangers, that they weren't the first string – no matter what they did.<p>

It sucked and he got it and he'd warned April about it years before, grumbled about it until she'd plain stopped listening, that it would all catch up with them again, even if it went on indefinitely, that it would just make matters worse for them, that it never ended well – when it involved the fucking system that did nothing but hold them hostage – when it didn't fucking matter to anybody what it did to them, the system, so long as their mother's freaking rights were protected, as if they were her property.

It pissed him off, and it just simmered under his fleece shirt as he quietly swapped tiger for rhino animal crackers with Abbey, and filled her milk glass, and listened to the kitchen clock ticking, until it hit 3 a.m., and another impish giggle escaped her, and they were down the stairs a moment later, and settling it to watch Sharkzilla vs. Mega Piranha IV, rebroadcast from the earlier 7 p.m. showing the night before.

He'd seen it earlier with Katie, but with Abbey it was entirely different. Katie would just laugh and snark at the cheesy effects, and roll her eyes, and tell him all about how the fin formations were all wrong, and about how animals like that wouldn't lay eggs, and about how those teeth weren't even possible, given their food supply and evolutionary path, and about how he should know better, since he was a doctor and all.

Abbey giggled too, which had surprised him the first few times – since he'd expected that she'd be scared – but she'd sit plopped beside him, anyway, and she'd burrow into his chest, and it didn't seem to matter to her at all, if it was Sesame Street or Snake Head III or Sponge Bob or Superstars of the National Football League, as long as he was there, too, and it didn't seem to matter to her, either, that he should know better, or that he found the whole thing about aliens building the pyramids fairly convincing, even if he was a doctor, as long as his arm was around her.

He smirked at the thought, since she was already dozing beside him, a few tiger cookie crumbs still clinging to her cheek, and it was something, really, that was really all she wanted from him, and that it wasn't like he couldn't do it, and he wondered if maybe it would be different with a different kid – a kid who actually expected more from him, a kid who actually thought she deserved more from him – and he wondered if it would be like that with the new kid, the kid who'd have April and a big house and all the food he wanted and a swing set, just because his parents did it on sea weed shag carpet.

It wasn't fair, he'd always known that, and it never would be, he reminded himself, as she settled into him with a soft sigh, and it wasn't like he didn't get it – didn't get why Abbey had suddenly become so quiet and clingy, while Katie was skipping homework and arguing with her coaches and getting notes sent home from her teachers, again – because it just sucked all around.

He got it, he did, and he just glowered at the social workers in the Emergency Room, and he ignored the counselors who told them that Katie was "displacing" her anger – as if she wasn't fucking displaced herself, thanks to them, and that Abbey was "sublimating" her anxiety – as if it wasn't written all over her face when she clung to him – and he just rolled his eyes when more paper work rolled in from the lawyers' office, about delays and procedures and hearings and parents' rights.

* * *

><p>It was finally over, the school year, and April breathed a sigh of relief, that no one had been expelled, or kicked off the soccer team, or asked not to return the next year, and it was automatic – and anything but – when she went into the office to register them, again, and listen to all the usual question, and fill in all the usual forms, and get all the usual congratulations - for finally starting a family of her own.<p>

It was setting her teeth grinding and her nerves on edge, and she couldn't tell if it was because her own parents were so excited, when they talked about finally having a grandchild, or when her sisters shut up abruptly, after mentioning a potential niece or nephew, or whether the girls eyed her warily, as if her growing girth was literally pushing them out of their bunk beds and out of their home and out of her life.

It was making her queasy – and not in a morning sickness kind of way – and she watched from a distance as Katie carefully tended her pond and her crabs and her new aquarium – another bribe from Alex, she imagined, for finally completing her last book report – and it almost made her laugh, that Katie buried herself in work when she was angry or upset or unsettled, sullen and silent and uncommunicative, while Abbey chattered up a storm and tried to be more friendly and out-going and helpful and organized, as if – if she was just good enough – she'd finally be the sister who stood out.

It didn't work that way, though, April frowned, and she almost told it to Abbey straight, that it wasn't fair, but that that didn't change it, that the Katies of the world would always get more attention, and that it just didn't matter how organized or helpful or good you were, if it just wasn't going to work out for you, and that you could play by all the rules and still have it all blow up in your face, even if you'd tried to do it all along, the best you could.

It followed them everywhere that summer, to the zoo and the water park and the aquarium and the Space Needle and the county fair, and it simmered between them as the baby kicked insistently and the sonogram tech offered to let them listen to the heartbeat and the nursery furniture arrived, along with a flood of gifts from distant aunts and uncles and grandparents, and she could see it all adding up in their eyes, that the baby's room was filling up, and that there might not be room left for them.

* * *

><p>It came three days before Halloween, an infant costume for a baby not due for another month, and he rolled his eyes at the little witch one-sie, and of course it would be a costume for a chick baby, because chicks ran in April's family, as far as he could tell chicks were the only kind of kids they made – and it would be an estrogen brigade in the house, no matter how they dressed it – even if Katie was dressing as a mad scientist that year, to go along with Abbey's lady bug suit.<p>

It was countdown and crazy, and it was distracting him as he followed them down the street, and it was swirling around him – a teeming mass of costumes and giggles and plastic pumpkins and shrieks and squeals and door bells and it was nothing like what he expected, since he'd never expected anything, really, and certainly not to be shepherding a mad scientist and a lady bug through a sedate sub-division on a chilly, crystal clear October evening.

He'd never expected it, since he didn't do holidays – even if Abbey did offer him the Snickers bars from her haul, since they were his favorites – and he was in it for cool surgeries, the whole kid thing at the hospital – and it wasn't like he was cut out for it at all, the whole kid thing at home, and it wasn't like he'd ever get it, the stuffed animal thing – especially not when you had a house full of real ones toddling along after you, anyway, and it wasn't like he'd have a clue how to do it, any of it.

He didn't either, a few weeks later, when the nurse shoved a screaming blue bundle into his arms, and it went from hypothetical to squirming and flailing and turning beet red in the span of six seconds, and it rose through his body like a volcano – a wave of churning panic – and it was all he could do not to drop it, he was holding on to it so tight, and it took him a minute or two to clear his head, and catch his breath, and realize that it was staring at him – the little blue bundle – and that it had probably started already, all the times when he'd have no idea what to do about it, any of it.

* * *

><p>It was settled that evening, sort of – he'd be named Eric Andrew Karev, whether Alex wanted it or not, and it was absurd, that they hadn't discussed it before, and she hadn't pushed it, originally – since he would have just rolled his eyes and her sisters would have made fun of her and the other doctors would have snickered – but she'd always kind of expected it, that she'd change her name when she married, and she just hadn't done it, yet, though she'd do it as soon as she could.<p>

It was crazy, really, but she hated hyphens – and what they did to alphabetizing – and she hated all the struggles she had with the girls' names, with the curious frowns and the nosy questions, and she got it – she did – that he had some crazy idea about all Karev DNA being, well, crazy – as if he shouldn't know better, being a doctor – and it wasn't something she'd ever doubt she'd do, even long after she'd given up on knights in shining armor and sweet little baby girls and most of the other things she'd imagined.

It might even have simmered between them for a while, but it was days before Thanksgiving and she smirked at that idea – that the baby had arrived in time for desert – and it somewhat unsettled her, that he had Alex's eyes and Alex's facial structure – and apparently Alex's fondness for Martian sized boobs, which hers had basically ballooned into over the past two months – and it occurred to her in the hospital that first evening, that he might be Alex all over again.

It was a complete misrepresentation, though, she realized over the next few weeks, because his eyes notwithstanding, Eric was sweet and calm and quiet, as long as he was fed on time, and happy as a clam as long as he was being held, and he just beamed up at her and gurgled when she tickled him, and he had the easiest personality in the world to manage, as long as she sung to him when he fussed, and it would start the moment she brought him to the hospital for day care, she imagined, the inevitable giggling queries about who his father actually was, since he couldn't possibly be related to Alex.

Not that they knew the half of it, she grumbled again two weeks later, since Katie had done nothing but sulk and scowl for weeks, yet still snagged another aquarium – the brackish one she'd been lusting after for months, and a racy snow board for the huge hill out back, and a nifty little tablet computer with an elaborate underworld video game, and Abbey – who'd been up every night for weeks, no matter what "Santa" said, had graduated up to a ridiculously fancy camera and a mini cactus farm and a tricked out cell phone for chattering with her friends and two new pairs of boots she didn't need at all, in colors she'd obviously picked herself, and a pink princess netbook with her name spelled out in glitter right there on the custom cover.

It was absurd, even by Santa's standards, and it was crazy, since she got it – that the girls were feeling displaced by the baby – but it wasn't like it was a solution or anything, to bribe them or spoil them silly, and it wasn't like they didn't need to get it, that baby's required a lot of care and attention, and it wasn't like she could've stopped him, since she wasn't toting an infant through a teeming, germ filled mall, and it wasn't like it all wasn't just exhausting her, and making her crazy, and it wasn't like she didn't need to get out of the house for a few hours when she finally let him have it, after she'd put Eric in his crib for his nap, and grabbed her keys and stalked off for the after Christmas block buster sales.

She didn't want to hear it, either, she fumed as she drove, and it wasn't like she wasn't worn out from all the late night feedings and the squabbling with the girls and the Turkey that wouldn't defrost on time and the over-due book report that Katie better have finished before she even thinks of trying out that snow board and it wasn't like she was being unreasonable since it was all just swirling around her, the crumbs and the laundry and the stray shoes and the snow tracked through the house and the refusal of anyone in the house to admit to it – as if Winston could get into the cheese doodle bag by himself – and it was probably a bad sign, that she almost asked Eric about it, too, just because of his eyes.

It steadied as she walked, her breathing, and it slowed further when she snagged a hot chocolate and finally just got to sit for a minute, as happy shoppers milled around her, and it abated as she eyed all the glittery decorations lining the store windows, and it settled into a lop sided smirk as she wandered into the nearest decoration shop, and fingered the delicate ornaments. She selected a tiny train set, for Eric's first Christmas, and a goofy photographer, for Abbey's growing interest in nature photography, and a snow-boarding pirate which bewildered her, and which was obviously made just for Katie.

She picked up a space alien, too – though they didn't have any that were actually building pyramids, as far as she could tell, and it wasn't a busty Martian – though it did have twelve arms, which also turned him on, apparently – and it dragged her down the aisle and out of the shop, the scent of cinnamon buns, and she picked some of those up, too, because it was still Christmas, technically, and it wasn't like they weren't already hopelessly spoiled, and it wasn't like she'd had time to bake, and she winced at that, too, at how she'd dismissed Abbey's request to make sugar cookies.

It couldn't be avoided, she reminded herself with a frown as she backtracked again, into the housewares store. Abbey had been asking about it for weeks, about holiday baking – like they showed it, in all those Christmas movies on the Family channel, and it had gotten pushed aside, because Eric needed to be fed, and Katie needed to be reprimanded, and Alex was at work late, and it just slipped through the cracks.

A lot of it slipped through the cracks these days, she sighed, as she selected a cheerful assortment of snow men and bells and churches and reindeer and gingerbread men and toy soldiers and tree cookie cutters, and it was all too familiar – the getting shoved aside, as Dani or Beth pushed forward – and it wasn't really Katie's fault, either, April reminded herself, if she felt abandoned by her mother and displaced by Eric and besieged her teachers, and it wasn't her fault, really, that she was angry and frustrated with it all, just like it wasn't Abbey's fault that all she wanted was what she saw in the movies, a family that could at least manage to bake a few cookies together.

* * *

><p>He didn't get it, that she was yelling at him one minute – something about cheese doodles and Dani and the boot prints in the kitchen – and back home and baking cookies with the girls later that evening. He didn't get it, but it smelled awesome, and he just shrugged when Katie looked at him quizzically, and he just nodded eagerly when Abbey brought him a glass of milk and her first batch of bells – which were crooked and burned around the edges, but warm, at least – and he just muttered to Eric to keep a low profile until the estrogen level in the house simmered down some.<p>

It kicked in by nine thirty, the sugar crash, and the girls were in bed by ten – Abbey still in her purple boots – and it was still snowing lightly, as the tree blinked slowly in the huge bay window, and it was oddly quiet, as Eric dozed in his arms, oblivious to the massive Snakeheads devouring every marine biologist west of the Mississippi, as far as Alex could tell.

It was his bed time, too, April told him a few minutes later, taking the baby and placing him into the bassinet across the room, and it was just biologically impossible for Snakeheads to run on land, she reminded him as she joined him on the couch, and it had been quite a Christmas, she sighed, as she burrowed into his arms, and it hadn't exactly gone as planned.

He smirked as he pulled her closer, since a planned Christmas would've been in Ohio, and a planned Christmas would've cut the gift list in half, since the girls weren't exactly thrilled with Eric's arrival, and a planned Christmas wouldn't have involved pre-cooked side dishes from the grocery store, and mashed potatoes in Abbey's hair, and Katie's frequent scowls, and Eric waking up every two hours to nurse, as Alex had been sloppily wrapping a snow board in a 99 cent shower curtain from the dollar store.

It was nothing like what she expected – he imagined – and it wasn't even alphabetized chaos anymore, and he'd heard her complaining to her neurotic mother about it often enough to know an eruption was coming, and he just didn't get it – really – how it mattered at all whether potato soup came before or after pea soup in the pantry, as long as the kids were fed, or how it mattered if Katie got another fish tank, or Abbey wanted purple boots, since it wasn't like they couldn't afford it, and it wasn't like it didn't suck if the other kids got whatever they wanted, and they didn't.

It wasn't the girls' fault, either, that she couldn't go to Ohio this year – so soon after having the baby – and it wasn't like they weren't happier at home anyway, with the zoo and their presents and Atlantis 2.0 bubbling away – and it wasn't like Katie didn't take care of her little fish tanks, either, since she knew all about them, and she could even lecture the clerks at the Friendly Fin pet shop if she thought they weren't doing something right, and the whole crew at Fins, Wings, Feathers& Scales knew her by name.

It wasn't like Abbey wouldn't wear her boots, either – even to bed, even if they were purple – and it wasn't like she wasn't careful with her cameras, and it wasn't like she wasn't always chattering about some nest she'd found or trying to get the hamsters to smile for portraits, and it wasn't like a few animal crackers were going to do her any harm and the Snakehead movies did not give her nightmares, since they all knew she was faking them, anyway, and it wasn't like she didn't have a right to be upset, since the whole fucking system was stacked against her, and it just sucked all around.

It made him mad again just thinking about it all, and it simmered as she slid her arms around him, and he would have said something about it, too, if she wasn't burrowing into his chest, and he would've gotten it across this time, if she wasn't already nodding off, and he would've told her it was all just as well that they finally got to stay home that year, if she wasn't already snoring softly into his chest.

* * *

><p>It took her another month to get the hang of it, juggling Katie's soccer practice and Abbey's photography cllasses and Eric's trips to the pediatrician, and it took another month for her head to clear, and the tiredness to sink to a reasonable level, and she missed it the whole time – the Emergency room – where there was still some semblance of order, even if people were bleeding profusely or missing limbs or gasping to breathe or being cut out of car doors or industrial machines or a washing machine – not that she ever got the full story about that one, even after it had made the rounds on the grapevine.<p>

She missed it, too, the grapevine, and lunches with Meredith and Alex and even Cristina, and she missed it – Ohio – and the chance to visit her parents whenever she wanted, and she missed it, the casual chats she used to have with her sisters, about haircuts and cousins and movies, since now her main concerns were notebooks and meal times and baby monitors and whether it was normal for Eric to be so quiet.

He was still happy as could be, though, and he was in the top quartile on the size charts and all the nurses at his doctor's office were completely charmed by him – and it just made her roll her eyes, and it figured, that he was already a chubby little flirt – and she was getting the hang of it, of car seats and baby bath tubs and mobiles and rocking chairs and sleeping whenever she could.

It wasn't going to happen to her, though, she wasn't going to be one of those women who had a baby and just let her career go to hell, and she wasn't going to be one of those women who couldn't talk about anything other than the baby. It wasn't going to happen to her, she promised, and it couldn't, because they'd be back again in the spring – the counselors and the social workers and the lawyers, and they'd need to get it together again, and they'd need for Katie to do her school work and for Abbey to actually speak up, about what she wanted and how it was going and whether she wanted it, whatever it was they had, if their mother didn't finish her rehab in time.

It was all a mess, anyway, she reminded herself, on a chilly February afternoon, because she couldn't imagine it – losing Eric, no matter what happened to her – and it wasn't like she'd ever set out to take some other woman's children from her, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen it first hand in the Emergency room, the havoc that some families lived with, and it wasn't like she wanted to be another chapter in their mother's messed up life, and it wasn't like she wanted that for them, to think that they'd been given away, basically, as if it wasn't that big a deal at all.

It wasn't what she wanted, exactly, but she couldn't imagine it, either – that they'd go back to the chaos they'd come from, that they'd leave behind their bunk beds and their fish tanks and their elaborate doll house villages – with working lights and door bells, and she just couldn't imagine it, that her collection of Christmas tree ornaments would end as abruptly as it started, and she couldn't imagine it, really, an end to the stern notes from Katie's teachers and the 'good conduct' certificates that Abbey earned as easily as she breathed, and she just couldn't imagine it, that they belonged with anyone but her.

The girls belonged with both of them, she reminded herself, as she hauled in two sacks of groceries and set them in the pantry, frowning at the misplaced cereal boxes and setting the animal crackers into their proper place, even if he'd never believe it, and he could tell himself he'd never be good at it as much as he wanted, but it wouldn't stop Katie from dragging him into her crazy fish keeping projects, and it wouldn't stop Abbey from trying to bake cookies for him, even if they were burned and lop sided.

It was all right there, too, their future – piled on the kitchen table, amid another sea of legal forms, and she sorted through them, again, after she put Eric down for his nap, and it was the same thing all over again, endless babbling about rights and interviews and the judgment of the courts and the children's' best interests and the psychiatric evaluations, and it all made her head swim and her throat tighten and it was all just bewildering, how the whole system could create a no win situations for all of them.

It kept her awake the next night, too, and the next, as she rocked Eric by the window, watching the shadows of the trees swaying in the wind, and it was easier, sometimes, calmer, when he was in her arms, and it was almost hypnotic, the rhythm of his breathing, and she smirked as she brushed her fingers over his cheek, as his face settled into an eerily familiar sleepy smile.

It almost kept her awake the next night too, but it didn't, until sometime around 1 a.m., when an abrupt phone call startled her awake, and Alex was out of their bed before he'd got out his first words, and he was dressed before he hung up, and it couldn't be the hospital because he was packing, and he finally muttered something about taking care of it as he grabbed his keys, and he was gone before it hit her, the few words he'd actually said.

* * *

><p>It had been a heart attack, they told him, and it had killed her instantly, and they swore she didn't suffer, which almost made him snort – since her whole life had been crap – and it was a blur of fog and head lights and speeding semis as he tore down the highway. He'd left her two messages, too, Amber, and they hadn't said anything about Aaron – if he knew, if he was lucid that week – and it was after day break before he thought to call Seattle Grace and rearrange his schedule.<p>

They'd already heard, an entirely too sympathetic voice at the switchboard said, and it had already gotten to her, too, apparently – that the Chief would give him as much time as he needed – and it was absurd, really, because it was just forms to fill in and Aaron to check up on and Amber to call – if she'd fucking pick up her phone – and it wasn't like there was anything he could actually fucking do, as if that hadn't been the story of his whole damn life, when you got right down to it.

It was in the morgue by the time he got there, the body, and he was used to it, morgues and bodies and the acrid scents and the harsh lights and the hushed voices. It pissed him off, and he just pulled the clip board from the young woman's hand, and sat beside the gurney, studying her face. It was the first time she'd look completely calm, ever, as far as he could tell – at least, not when she wasn't drugged into oblivion – and it was crazy, that someone had done up her hair, and it was freaking perfect, that her arms no longer required restraints, or one of those I.D. tags reminding the staff to address her by her name, so that she wouldn't forget it, as if Karev was anything to remember, as if it had ever done her a lick of good.

He scanned the form, ran his finger over her name and shivered abruptly. She was Mrs. Karev in these places – or Anna – but they could've substituted Karev for schizophrenia under the line diagnosis, and it pretty much would've said it all. He tried to force his breathing into a steadier pace, tried to focus his eyes on the pages, and crossed a few lines out immediately. He knew it was important, providing cadavers to medical schools, but she'd been dissected enough – by the shrinks and the social workers and the cops and even the freaking neighbors – and he just couldn't imagine any more of it.

He'd sign for it, too, the few effects she had listed, a few pieces of jewelry, a bible and a music box, some pictures and a few boxes marked miscellaneous, and he'd check with Amber to see if she wanted any of it – if she'd pick up her fucking phone – and it was an hour just sitting there, and another, and maybe another, as he sat almost motionless corpses, ignoring the rare movements of the personnel who tried to work awkwardly around him, and insisted they wouldn't rush him, and that they got it.

There was nothing to get, though, because it was all right there on the forms – the diagnosis and the prescriptions and the effects, and it was pretty much her whole life – voices that weren't there, crap that never happened swirling around in her head, crowding out the even worse crap that did happen, scars no one could fix, not even the best plastic surgeons – and it fucking figured, that it was just him there at the end, since he'd driven the bastard away, and Amber would never forgive him for it, and Aaron would never recover from it, and it fucking coursed through his veins anyway.

It gnawed at him as he fingered her hand, and it figured, too, that she'd worn the bastard's ring, long after he was long gone, and that she'd waited for him to come back, long after she was too far gone to return to, and that it would never fucking matter – if he was alive or dead – because it would always be too late now, for him to apologize to her for it, for beating the crap out of her, when all she wanted from him was that he be her fucking husband.

It set his blood boiling, and it was there all over again – the crappy house he'd left them in, when he'd gone off to medical school, and Aaron's accusations, and Amber's hostility – and it was all his doing, and it was always too late, and he could never have fixed it, and it was all he could think to do – stealing food for them – and it was all he could think to do, beat the crap out of him, to get him to stop – and he just hadn't meant for any of it to end up like this, and it wasn't like he could do anything about any of it.

He could've told her all about it, but it had been too late for as long as he could remember, and he could've told her he was sorry – that it might have been different, but that he couldn't have stayed – but it was all lies on lies, and she never would've understood it, never would've accepted it - and it wasn't like he believed in fate, anyway, since even that was some kind of order, and the whole universe was a complete mess, as far as he could tell.

He could've told her all of it, that he was sorry – about the bastard, about Aaron, about Amber, about how he couldn't make the voices go away, about how he couldn't take care of her the way she deserved – but it all curdled in his throat, and he was fairly sure he'd vomit up his stomach contents if he even opened his mouth, and it wouldn't do a damn bit of good, anyway, talking about it, since it wasn't like he believed in after lives or anything, and even if he did, she'd be long gone by now, anyway.

It was too late, it always had been, and her forehead was cold when he brushed his lips to her, and it set shivers through him as he made his way to her old room, and it was night again, he noticed vaguely, and he just sat in his familiar chair and stared across to the window, bathed in faint shadows from the city lights – and it was light years from Iowa, but might as well have been right there – and he just stared blankly at the freshly made bed, at the neatly organized pile of her effects, and the monitors by the wall.

It was all familiar, bizarrely – like home, in some strange way – and it was all slipping away, again, even though she'd slipped away years and years before, and it was all just empty and hollow and weightless, like his skin might collapse for lack of any underlying structure, and he needed to run but he couldn't even move his legs, and he needed to breathe but he could scarcely force air into his lungs, and it almost made him smirk, that he could suffocate in a hospital, just eight feet away from an oxygen machine.

He watched it for hours, the play of shadows across the tautly pulled sheets – like waves of Iowa grain blowing in the wind, and it would be over the moment he packed up his car – her life in this room – and it would go to the next occupant, and it would be forgotten almost as quickly as it started – her time here – as new patients came and went, and it wouldn't amount to anything, all the pills and all the psychiatrists' reports and all the social workers cherry assurances that she was doing fine.

It was just another system, another way of warehousing them – the people no one knew what to do with – and it was just another way to keep more of it from bleeding out and infecting everybody else, and it was just another way for people to convince themselves that they were doing everything they could about it, when all that they could do about it was precisely fucking nothing.

He deposited it into the toilet, the lump roiling in his stomach, and he gathered up one big bundle, while two orderlies helped him with the rest, and he turned in the forms at the desk, and it wasn't a good time to tell Aaron he was cautioned – which was code for Aaron might not even remember who she was at the moment – and it figured that Amber still hadn't returned his calls, and the L.A. sun was already blinding him as he pulled out of the parking lot, and it was all a smeared blur of street signs and bill boards and hazy pavement as he sped back up the highway.

* * *

><p>He hadn't come home the first night he was back in Seattle, or the second, and she got it, and it all sat in his car for a few days, the boxes of his mother's things, and it was gruff and rushed and surly and it was in and out of the house and back to the hospital again after a quick change of clothes, and she'd tried to warn the girls about it as best she could, that it would be different for the next few days, that it would be complicated and unpredictable and awkward, and that they should probably just ignore it.<p>

It wasn't the best advice, she was sure, but it was the best she could come up with at the moment, and it wasn't like she wanted to upset them further, since it wasn't like their own mother was issue enough, and it wasn't like she could prepare them completely, or answer all their questions, when really, there just weren't words for any of it, when you got right down to it.

It came the following morning by special freight, and it almost made her laugh as she signed for the package, and it was absurd that the cremated remains of someone's mother could ship like Kool-Aid packets or talcum powder, and she removed the polished wood box from the secure packaging and placed it on the built in shelves in the spare bedroom at the back of the house, three rows away from his old trophies, beside her extra ironing board and a few things the house's previous owners left behind.

She sat on the ornate day bed with the spindly white frame, and ran a finger over the room's old wood paneling, reminding herself that she'd had big plans for it once, the large, quiet bedroom over-looking the back yard. It would be painted a pretty color, she recalled thinking, to match the old day bed they'd inherited, and she'd put up pictures of flowers and gardens, and add a graceful lamp to the antique white bedside table, and it might even be a good guest room, if Dani or Cari or Beth or Jenny – or Amber – ever wanted to visit.

It hadn't happened, though, and then the girls came, and then it became maybe Abbey's room, except that they wanted to stay together, and then it became maybe the baby's room, except it was easier for Eric's nursery to be in the smaller bedroom near their own, and then it became maybe Abbey's bedroom again, someday, when she and Katie each wanted their own – though one of them would probably want the big one in the attic, she imagined, with its own bathroom, and it was all still in limbo, anyway, and it waited like the rest of them, the room, to see if it might be someone's bed room again, someday.

She ran her fingers over the simple box, gleaming in the afternoon sun, and she traced out the letters of Anna Karev's name, and there would be no funeral service for her, no memorial, not even a ten line item in the obituaries summarizing her life, and it hit her all over again, why he'd never wanted her to be Mrs. Karev, too, and it had nothing to do with rings or vows or whether she snarked on his movies of nagged him about pantry organization or vegetables of pushed him about the girls or hid the Halloween candy from him or ran a zoo on the side or dragged him to Ohio for holidays, even if her sisters were crazy.

It was nothing like that, she knew, because she'd seen it all – the little white farm house and the glaring lights at the psychiatric facilities and the surly sister and the manic brother and the absent father he just wouldn't talk about at all – and it all made her queasy, that it was really all he knew about families, and that he probably felt like it followed him everywhere, and that it was all his fault, and that he couldn't escape it.

She set the box back down on the shelf, and poked warily at the woman's other belongings, piled in the corner, and it was nothing like how any life should end, with a tattered bible and a few bits of jewelry and a few faded photos of people she probably hadn't even remembered, and it was just like they all told them during their first year of med school, never buy into it, the idea that you can save everybody, or it will just make you crazy, when it all blows up in your face, no matter what you do about it.

It's a no win situation, she remembered hearing back then, and she remembered Reed giggling at it, since Reed was more like Cari, out to save the world, or like Katie, convinced she was invincible, and it just wasn't like that at all, April reminded herself with a frown, since it could all end in heartbeat.

It followed her back down the stairs, followed her as she went to pick up the girls from school, trailed her as she herded them through another dinner, and homework, and chores, and she wasn't even waiting for it, much later that evening, when she heard his car pull into the driveway. It figured, she imagined moments later, that he'd hole up in the basement, on his beloved couch, with his Martians or his Mutants or his Swamp Monsters, except that it sounded a moment later like they were all trailing down the hall together, and she wondered if maybe he was finally doing it, moving the rest of his mother's things from his car, to the room at the back of the house.

It quieted almost instantly, and she listened for more footsteps that didn't come, and it made her heart beat faster in her chest, the waiting, until she heard it again – the creaking of the stairs and the echoing past her door and she finally just grabbed her robe, wrapping it tightly around her in the chilly air as she poked her head out the door, startling Abbey and almost making them both jump. She wondered if it was nightmares again, real or imagined, but Abbey just looked up at her seriously, showing her a milk glass and a box of animal crackers, and peeping up that they "were for daddy."

She wanted to stop it, before it went any further, since she was sure he wasn't in the mood for it, and it wasn't like Abbey was prepared for any of it, and it wasn't like Alex couldn't be a handful under the best of circumstances – and she almost cringed as she used the word, since she'd heard it so often lately, applied to Katie – but it all slipped past her as Abbey continued down the hall, pushing in through the half opened door as her shadow disappeared into the room.

She wouldn't be ready for it, April reminded herself, creeping down the hall, and it wasn't like she should be dragged into it, more grown up stuff she shouldn't really have to deal with, and it wasn't like they hadn't been unsettled enough, her and her sister, by the most recent court proceedings, and it wasn't like the other kids in her class were dealing with any of this, and it wasn't like April was expecting any of it, when she reached the door and stopped quietly to listen to a simple, repeated whisper: "It's okay, daddy," followed by the familiar crinkle of the cookie box.


	11. Chapter 11

It was the last ounce of anything he had left, after days of driving, after days of being awake, after days of scheduling changes and phone calls and voices echoing around him and doctors reporting to him about Aaron and Amber's still unanswered messages and all the stuff he'd moved from the car and the street signs that passed in a blur and the roiling stomach contents he kept depositing in toilets or bushes – it was the last ounce he had, and it all just poured out of him as Abbey's arms closed around him, and he didn't have it, even an ounce more, to push her away.

It was all a mess, anyway, the photos scattered around him and the jewelry still in the little plastic baggie from the facility, labeled with her name – a chain he recognized vaguely, a few rings, a tangle of blue and white rosary beads – and it was all just a mess, the house and the surgical board and the social workers in L.A. and the pile of forms on the kitchen table, it was all a mess and it was all his fault and he should've put a stop to it months ago, years ago, before it was all too late.

It was the last ounce he had left, and it just poured out of him, and he could barely feel it, as she burrowed into his chest, and it should've been terrifying to her – like the nightmares, not the fake ones she made up, but the real ones, the shrinks and the counselors who couldn't do a fucking thing for her, and it should've pushed her away, that he was… that he didn't… that he couldn't… that it had all been his doing and he'd let it all happen and it would start all over again if he didn't stop it.

He should've pushed her away, the first time she'd called him that, and he should've pushed April away, the first time she'd trailed him to Iowa – since she'd seen it – and he should've stopped it, the pond and the fish stuff – and he should've seen it all coming and he had and he hadn't done anything to stop it.

It was the last ounce he had left, and he should've stopped it long before and she shouldn't be there, whispering to him and fishing the rhino crackers out of the box, and it should terrify her and send her away – the nightmares piled around him, in little plastic baggies and a polished brown box and a few crinkled shopping bags marked with a name she shouldn't know – and it all just seeps out of him, in the faint moonlight filtering in through the frilly white curtains.

He should've done it all different, every last bit of it, and it shouldn't have gone on like this and it shouldn't have ended like this and it was the last of anything that he had left and it was spilling onto Abbey's hair and it was the only thing he'd ever learned from his old man – that boys don't cry - and he had to put a stop to it right that instant, since it was one of the few rules he ever actually believed in.

It was the last ounce he had left, and it was a minor miracle he'd made it through the day, with his old coaches' voices ringing in his ears and it all made him dizzy and groggy and it was another minor miracle he'd made it home in one piece and he just couldn't imagine doing it the next day but he had to and he struggled against it, the crushing weight on his chest as another pair of arms wrapped around him, and he just couldn't get it to clear – his throbbing head or his smeared, blurry vision – and it was impossibly hot even though he was shivering and it was all grey and heavy and dizzying and it was the last thing he remembered, sinking into the darkness, before it all went blank.

* * *

><p>It was almost 8:30 the following morning before she got Katie off to the car pool, and Eric fed and settled happily in his play pen, and called the hospital again, and returned to find him right where they left him, curled on the floor and wrapped more tightly in Abbey's pretty in pink princess throw, and it figured, that Abbey had forgotten to take the empty milk glass down to the kitchen with her, after she'd whispered to him that it would be okay, again, and kissed him goodbye before going off reluctantly to grab her school back pack, since it seemed to run in them, too – shared DNA or not – the trail of milk glasses that needed to be washed – and it figured, that Abbey finally flatly refused to leave, Abbey the cooperative one, Abbey the one who never gave them any trouble, Abbey the one who suggested that they try to make him pancakes when he woke up, as if whatever it was, maple syrup could fix it.<p>

It was as good a theory as any, April thought with a smirk, as she quietly scooped up the photos that littered the floor, placing them neatly with the boxes and bags in the corner. It was as good a theory as any, she imagined, because he wouldn't want to talk about it, and he probably wouldn't remember much of it, and he probably hadn't been eating much, anyway – unless you count a few rhinos – and it wasn't like it could hurt, even if she shuddered at the thought of Abbey wreaking havoc in the pantry.

It was probably just as well, she imagined, brushing her fingers lightly through his hair, and it was probably just as well, that it wasn't until after noon, when he finally stirred, and it was probably just as well, since it would give him time to shower and change, and it was probably just as well that Abbey was so proud of her lumpy, golden pan cakes that she didn't think to ask him about it, when he finally popped into the kitchen nearly a half hour later, with a mild smirk.

It was probably just as well, she noticed, since he and Abbey had something to talk about instead of the night before, and it was probably just as well that he didn't even ask why she was home from school that day, and it was probably just as well that the papers had been cleared from the kitchen table, because however urgent they were, it wasn't the time, and it was probably just as well that Abbey remembered what she'd been told, and went out into the yard with him and Winston afterwards, to help him dig holes for the weeds – for the bulbs, she corrected herself immediately – that wouldn't need planting for a month, and to clean off the drive way that would be mud covered again by morning.

It was just as well, she imagined as she watched them work, that Abbey could chatter to him about her latest photographs and the up-coming swim meet and how excited she was for spring, about anything but whatever it was that had unraveled him the evening before, and it was just as well, she noticed, that Abbey knew better than to mention it, too, and it was just as well, she imagined, as she scooped Eric up to feed him again, that Katie would probably only come home with one note that day, since she'd heard from the car pool mothers that the reading teacher was still out with the flu.

It was probably just as well, she imagined, that Hurricane Katie blew in precisely on time that afternoon, and that the yard erupted into a flurry of shrieks and sprints, and that dinner was the usual chaotic blur, and that homework was the usual battle of wills – at least, with Katie – and that Abbey seemed to catch it, April's nod to her as she tucked her in that night, that she'd take care of it that night.

It was probably just as well, she imagined, that he was almost asleep by the time she'd crawled into their bed, and it was probably just as well that he was exhausted from digging and aching and stiff from hauling dirt and rocks and creaky and chilled from the damp cold and that he at least had something she could do something about, and that he didn't push it away immediately, as her fingers sank into his back, and that it went from stiff and cramped to warm and supple before she knew it.

It echoed around her, too, a chorus of light moans, and it was all in there, apologies and regrets and fears and bewilderment and anger and denial and shock, and it all pooled into the curve of his spine, and it all flowed over her hands as another round of soft sighs followed and it all ended up where it always did, curled in her arms and snoring softly into her chest.

It was all his fault, too, she noticed, shifting repeatedly, that she now had her aunt Edna's hips and those Martian boobs, and they'd warned her about it, all those pregnancy books she'd barely had time to skim while keeping up with Katie and Abbey, about the post-pregnancy weight that would cling to her, and it was all his fault, since it spent so many nights making her shriek and shudder and tremble, even if it was just wedged comfortably against her at the moment, as sleepy as the rest of him.

It was all his fault, too, she smirked, studying his face before pressing her lips to his hair, again and again, since she'd seen it on the counter that morning as she was hastily preparing the lunch Katie wouldn't eat, anyway, and it was absurd, really, that it never failed even in situations like this, and it just made her shake her head and smirk at the thought, that nothing said it quite like a Snickers bar, or a goofy, glow-in-the-dark Fun in the L.A. Sun pair of flip flops key chain, complete with working flashlight.

* * *

><p>It woke him at 3 a.m. that morning, the scatter shot of sleet against the windows, and he glanced bleary eyed at the alarm clock beside his bed, and he struggled to remember if it was morning or afternoon, and if he was due at the hospital any time soon, or already late, and if it would ever stop throbbing, the dull ache behind his eyes, and if it would ever settle, the roiling in his stomach.<p>

It was always 3 a.m., he remembered, even back after… even back after the shootings, and it was 3 a.m. with Abbey back when she had nightmares, and then again when she didn't, and it was probably a hint or a sign, that he should go for a run in the sleet, or go watch television in the basement, but his legs were still stiff and the room was still oddly chilly and he just burrowed deeper under the comforter, tugging it closer around April as she drew closer into him with a sleepy sigh.

It was still strawberries, too, he noticed with a smirk, the scent of her hair, which shimmered even in the faint moon light filtering in through the huge windows, and it was still her gentle arms wrapped around him, and it was still her warm curves pouring into his body, curvier curves even, he gathered, as he traced his hands along her silky skin, and it was always her warm hands or her soft lips or her quiet murmurs, whenever it was 3 a.m. and he didn't run or watch mutant potatoes take over Idaho.

It was nothing like he'd ever expected, and he just watched it spread across her face as his hands continued their travels, another sleepy smile, and it was never supposed to be like this for her, and she was never supposed to have to deal with it, with Iowa and psych wards and the madness that bubbled in his own veins, and it wasn't supposed to be like this, with social workers and counselors and legal forms all over the kitchen table, and he was sure it was nothing she ever expected, to be untangling his spine after her own long day with the kids, while he was barely holding any of it together.

It was nothing like Abbey should have to deal with either, he reminded himself, and his face flushed beet red for what little he remembered of it, of her small voice assuring him it would be all right, before it all unraveled completely. She shouldn't have seen any of it, he reminded himself, and it wasn't like she didn't have her own crap to deal with, and it wasn't like he wasn't supposed to be helping her – and not making matters worse – and he wondered if it even freaking scared her, even if he was still sure she'd been faking it for over a year, the nightmares that required their usual late night fix.

He shook his head at it, too, and he flushed red all over again, at the milk and the crackers and the pan cakes, and it was all spilling into the house, no matter how hard he fought it, and it was like a miniature version of that crappy old farmhouse had followed him, clinging to his mother's things, and it made his stomach churn all over again, the idea that he'd have to get rid of it at some point, as if it might infect the rest of the place if he just left it all where it was.

It would help if Amber would return his freaking calls, he reminded himself, since she might want some of it, even if she had made it pretty freaking clear of late, that she wanted nothing to do with him, and it wasn't like he blamed her for it, and it wasn't like he didn't get it – why she'd never quite trust Aaron, either, even if she'd seen it her whole life, what the madness could do once it kicked up where the pills left off, and he'd get it – if she wanted to keep her distance – so she wouldn't catch it, too.

It was irrational, he thought with a smirk, and unscientific, and it had no medical basis – any such fear of it – and it might've made him frustrated or angry, too, if he didn't have it himself, the nagging sense that he was prone to it, too, that he might catch it – from a stray photo or a bible or a music box or a string of rosary beads – that it might overtake him, the moment he least expected it.

It wasn't like that, though, he reminded himself, holding April closer, and it didn't work like that, the brain, even if the shrinks pretended they knew all about it, and it had to stop, he insisted to himself again, and he'd make it up to them, he insisted, even if he had no idea how, exactly, and it wasn't like it was an option, anyway, since it just kept echoing through his mind, a familiar small voice assuring him that it would be all right.

* * *

><p>The girls were already gone by the time she woke the next morning, popping abruptly out of her bed as she raced down the stairs. It was a mess, she noticed, the kitchen – littered with the remains of what looked like a slightly less lumpy pancake breakfast, and it trailed off into the family room, where Alex and Eric sprawled on the floor, giant colorful blocks strewn everywhere, while sports news flickered in the background. It almost made her laugh, because he was sure that Eric was going to be an architect someday, even though he was only six months old, and prone to drooling on his Lego masterpieces.<p>

She joined them anyway, and it was more giggling and gurgling and laughing, and Eric was still the happiest baby she could imagine, and it was time for his next meal before she knew it, and it was time for his nap soon after, and it was the first time she and Alex had had the house to themselves in ages, and it was different now, since the baby, and she was still getting used to it all, the Martian boobs and aunt Edna's hips, and she wondered if he was getting used to it all, too.

She'd wondered, but it was throbbing in her hands moments later, and it was thundering through her as she shifted her weight, and it was a sudden sharp gasp as she snickered and reminded him that she was still horny, and it was thundering through him as they plunged into a familiar rhythm and it was still rippling his skin as she curled tightly around him afterwards and it was still echoing around her in a series of deep moans as it settled comfortably between them, still trembling, and it was still quivering as her hands wandered gently down his body, slowly steadying his breathing.

It was still all his fault, she teased, running her fingers delicately along it again and smirking at his low, rumbling groan, that they were doing it on shag carpet, amid piles of brightly colored plastic blocks, and it was all his fault, she giggled, as she brushed at the indentation one of the plastic pieces had left in his hip, and it was all his fault, if her shrieking startled the neighbors.

It was quiet and warm and peaceful, in the dimly lit room, and it still made him blush sometimes, with a lop sided smirk, when she traced her fingers lightly over his face, and it was still hypnotic, the beating of his heart beneath her ear, and it was still unpredictable, even when it wedged lazily between them, and it was still nothing like she'd ever expected it – not that she'd ever expected to be doing it on blue green shag carpet, in front of an entire crew of Lego construction workers and cement truck drivers – and it still startled her sometimes, what it could accomplish without a word.

It lasted all of twenty minutes, too, before Eric was up again, and it took her another four minutes to dress, after Alex untangled her bra from the coffee table legs, while she shook Lego workers out of her robe, and it lasted all of another hour or two, before hurricane Katie blew back into the house, followed closely by Abbey, and it was the usual rush of dinners and papers and baths and giggling and toys and tooth brushing and rocking and zoo keeping until she finally dropped back into her bed again.

It was nothing like she expected, the chaos and the madness, and she still couldn't imagine it ending, and it simmered in her head as Alex slept peacefully beside her, and he just couldn't take it, she was sure, if they took Katie and Abbey away from them now, and it would just finish him, she feared – after his mother and his sister and his brother – and he was barely holding it together again after the ride to L.A. and the polished wooden box in the spare bedroom, and it just couldn't happen to him, not again, not now she insisted, and it had to work this time, the system, or she just didn't see how he'd manage it.

They couldn't take it either, she reminded herself the following morning – the girls – because Abbey's pancakes were getting better, even if it was crushed animal crackers, she suspected, one of her secret ingredients, and Katie loved reading science fiction and anything about fish, even if she wouldn't do it for school, and it just wouldn't be the same if Abbey wasn't faking nightmares, just to watch late night television with him, and if Katie wasn't squabbling with her over homework and fish tanks and chores and the whole idea of rules in general, and it just wouldn't be the same, with any other kids but them.

It just wouldn't be the same, she insisted, and she'd tell them all that the following month, and the month after, and she would register them for school again, even if it was all still in limbo, and it didn't matter how it would look – if it was like they were spoiling the kids or like they were trying to impress the social workers or something else entirely – because Alex wanted to take Katie to Sea World, and he wanted to take Abbey to see the Spinning Tea Cups and the Little Mermaid she was always chattering about, and it was just going to be what they did that summer, and that was all there was to it.

* * *

><p>It was 5:36 a.m. when he woke the next morning, and it was receding a little, the fog in his head, and her arms were still wrapped around him as he stretched lazily and it was finally starting to dull some, the steady ache in his back, and it just washed over his skin, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and it just all slid smoothly against him, her warm skin, and it sank into him in all the right places and he just smirked as she murmured, since it sill melted readily into his hands.<p>

She'd blame it on him, too, he imagined as he slid out of the bed, the whole bigger boob thing, as if it was anything to complain about, as if Eric could help it, either – that guys just preferred it, when they were like that, he smirked again, as she followed him into the shower, giggling, and she'd probably blame it on him again, too, even if he was the one gasping and shuddering as it trembled in her hands, and it was probably his fault, too, that she left the plush shag carpet in the family room, because, she'd snorted sarcastically at the time, he remembered, it was "cushy."

It was chaos as usual an hour later, as the girls thundered down the stairs and it was breakfast and book bags and permission slips as they chattered, and it was surprisingly good pancakes as Abbey watched him eagerly – even if they were a little crunchy, which was kind of weird, but whatever, since they were smothered in syrup, anyway – and it was car pools honking as April finished feeding Eric and it was finally back to the hospital again, where he still worked too hard just to focus his mind.

It was consults but no cutting again that day, Bailey insisted, and it had obviously spread through the grape vine, about his mother, and he got it all over – those uncomfortable looks and the awful sad glances and he just rolled his eyes and he just holed up in a conference room and caught up on his paperwork and wandered up to the NICU, to see how things were going there. It was the usually midday madness, with frantic, panicked parents and busy nurses and babies too sick or too weak even to scream, and it was always better after midnight if you just went there to think.

It was the same the next day, and the next, and he was cutting again by the following Monday, and it was intense and focused and precise and it forced everything else out of his mind, the lawyers' phone calls and Katie's attitude and Abbey's clinging and April's flurry of stress organizing activity as Eric happily stacked his blocks, oblivious to it all, and it got pushed out of his mind entirely – the crap about Amber and his mother and his brother, since it wasn't like he could do a damn thing about any of it.

It was the same the week after until he heard it on the grapevine, the news of another possible merger, and it had been a disaster, the last one, and it was already freaking people out, about layoffs and cut backs and possible shakeups in the departments, and it was a terrible time for April to be on leave and he'd tell her about it, except that the last time he'd tried to help a wife with her career it had all blown up in his face.

She hears about it, anyway, and it's more juggling as they hustle Eric into day care as she returns part time and it's a battle for her but Eric is thrilled and he just doesn't get it, why April's so freaked about it when the kid's already flirting with Jensen's daughter from Ortho. It's loaded with every kind of block he could ask for, too, Alex notices as he drops him off the next week, and it's not like he wasn't laughing and getting tickled by the pretty young red head as Alex shoved a diaper bag into Eric's cubby.

It was fine, he insisted to her later that morning, and it was convenient and Eric loved it and it wasn't like he'd be scarred for life if April had lunch with him before she went to retrieve Eric from the teachers and it wasn't like she was going to get fired that week for being part time – no matter what the stupid grape vine said – and it wasn't like she wasn't still the go to chick in trauma, and it wasn't like they still weren't a Level One Trauma Center, mainly because she'd organized them into being one.

It's all driving her crazy, anyway, he notices the next week, and it's lunch outside that day since it's actually clear for a change and it's hot salty pretzels and hot dogs - with vegetables, he points out gruffly when she deems it the "heart attack in a bag" Tuesday special, and she's rolling her eyes and fussing with napkins but at least she's finally laughing about it ten minutes later, as she dabs the hot mustard from his nose, while he opens her water.

It's a walk after that, and it comes out in dribs and drabs, again, about the lawyers and the merger and the girls and day care and whether it will ever fall into place, and it's not like he can tell her it'll all be fine, because he gets it, how the system works, and it's not like he can tell her that Eric's already hitting on hot day care workers, because then she'll just glare at him, and it's not like he can tell her it'll all be fine, because that's just another "F" word, so he really just listens as it all swirls around them.

It apparently wasn't so awful though, the lunch, since she's kissing him afterwards right there in the middle of it, the main walkway – grapevine central – and it's long and deep and he can feel it all through his body, the blood rushing to his face, and he can feel the electricity from her fingers as she holds his face and he can feel it pour right through him, when she releases him and smiles shyly into his eyes, and whatever it is, it sucks the air from his lungs and leaves him tingling and wobbly for the rest of the day, as she rushes off to retrieve Eric from his growing harem.

* * *

><p>It left her flushed and wobbly, too, and she beamed as Eric reached for her, giggling happily, and she smiled broadly as they raved about him, again, about how good he was, and how sweet, and how friendly, and about how they all just loved him, and she smirked when they asked her if she was sure about who his father was, and she just scooped him up and grabbed his bag and toted him to her car, hoping she'd have some time to play with him before the girls got home.<p>

She wouldn't let it upset her, she promised herself as she pulled into the driveway, all the merger gossip at the hospital, even if she remembered the first one vividly, and she wouldn't let it unravel her completely, the current piles of forms on the kitchen table, and she wouldn't let it rattle her, the news from Beth that she'd accepted a three year position with a travel magazine based in Seattle, and that that would be her new home base as she continued to jet around the globe half the year.

It was good news, she insisted to Eric, that Beth's career was really taking off, that her new job would take her to the Caribbean and the Caymans and a host of exotic vacation locales, and that she'd finally gotten it – the big break with the major magazine, making major money to fly all over the world and be obscenely pampered – while April washed dirty milk glasses and played with sticky plastic blocks and tried to fathom exactly what Abbey was putting into her pancakes to make them so crunchy, anyway.

It was good news, she reminded herself, after she'd heard the rest of the grapevine weigh in on it – on how Cari would be joining her in Cairo over her winter break, and Dani already had dibs on Cabo around Thanksgiving, and about how Jenny would love to see Japan. It was good news, she insisted, since they were all young and carefree and could come and go as they pleased, and it was good news, she agreed happily, when her mother – who never went anywhere – called about a Caribbean cruise.

It was good news, she agreed, just like she was happy that Cari had been chosen to do advanced Oncology research, and Dani was now a vice president of … something… and Jenny was working for the only congressman in her state who'd never been indicted, at least – not yet – and it was all very exciting, she reminded herself, amid another evening of homework and hash browns and hot pink bubble bath.

It was good news, she reminded herself the following month, and it would all work out, she insisted, as more forms flooded in, and it would be exactly what she wanted – even if Katie was really pushing her limits – and it figured, she smirked a week later as she clamored out of a late shower, that the only book she'd had a chance to scan about it during her pregnancy had been all wrong, since it had been almost eight months since she'd had Eric, and it was still nowhere in sight, the body she vaguely remembered from back before she'd started doing it on the shag carpet.

It was all his fault, she smirked, shaking her head as she pulled her light robe around her. It was silly though, she noticed, since it was a warm June night, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all before, and it wasn't like he'd complained any, about the Martian boobs he still couldn't keep his hands off of, anyway, and it wasn't like she hadn't thought about it before, what it would be like, to be more busty, like Beth, or Barbie, or the Martian women over running the Science Fiction channel.

It would've been great, she'd been sure, back when she was sixteen and still looked twelve, back when Beth was two years behind her, and still sprouted two whole sizes over one summer, back when Beth got it all, the drooling and the attention from the guys, back when she was sure of it, that Beth's boobs were just pushing her out of the house, and making her more invisible to boot. It had been awesome for Beth, she was sure, until she had them herself, and had to dress for them, or around them, if they weren't the first thing she wanted people to notice about her.

It wasn't that easy, though, she'd noticed, to dress around them, except maybe in her lab coat, and it was starting all over again, she imagined, since it was starting with Katie, too, and it wasn't like she'd ever wanted to talk about it with either of them, any of it, and it wasn't like she was ready, and it made her mad, really, that the parenting books said she'd grow into it – the whole being a mother thing – but they didn't say what to do when you'd already skipped some steps, and were staring midway.

She could probably ask Beth about it, she thought with another smirk, and it wasn't like she wouldn't get used to it, she imagined, as she placed her robe on the chair beside her bed, and it wasn't like she wouldn't stop hearing about it on the grapevine – about how pregnancy had been great for her, about how she'd gotten them from Sloan, about how she'd taken a longer maternity leave just to get them done - and it wasn't like she didn't have more important things to think about, like what to do about all of them, the next round of hearings and interviews and court proceedings.

She'd already done it anyway, she reminded herself forcefully, registered them for school the following year, and they'd already done it, made reservations for Sea World and Disney, and she reviewed it all as she sank her fingers into Alex's stiff back, though he already slept peacefully. It was hypnotic, anyway, she'd noticed months before, the play of his skin beneath her fingers, and she was already half way down his back before her own breathing began to slow, and she was already tracing fine outlines along the base of his spine, before her mind began to clear and her thoughts to slow.

Not that he minded it, she was sure, even when he was asleep, judging from his deep sighs, and the lazy stretching as her thumbs sank into his hips, and it figured, she imagined, rolling her eyes, that the closest she'd get to an actual honeymoon was feeding chopped squid to starfish or dancing with Donald Duck, not that they'd ever even agree about it, she reminded herself with a smirk as her eyes trailed her hands over it, since they'd never even agreed on whether he fractured it, even though she still had the pictures to prove it, no matter what he said about it.

It had healed nicely, though, she reminded herself, giggling again as another deep sigh escaped him as she passed back over it more slowly, and she remembered hearing about it on the grapevine, too, from the pretty young nurses, about what it probably looked like minus the scrubs, and she could tell them that it looked better coming out of the shower, and better still in the golden orange light of the fire place – not that she recommended fire places, necessarily –and better, either way, when it was all one color, and not purple and black and blue, and, she giggled again, she even had the pictures to prove it.

* * *

><p>It made his stomach churn as they drove down to California that July, the street signs and the semis and the trees and he did it deliberately, took the side routes, and he just breathed a sigh of relief, that April didn't even ask about it, and it was a big state, so it wasn't like Amber was even an issue, and it was there in front of them before he knew it, anyway, the aquatic parkresort they were staying at.

It sucked that Katie couldn't really enjoy it, Alex imagined, since the hearings had been pushed back to late August, again, as if it didn't matter that they'd already be preparing for school by then, as if it wasn't a big deal for them, if they'd have the same house and the same friends in another month, as if it didn't freaking matter that Katie had Atlantis 2.0 to take care of and Abbey was practicing the butterfly for her swim team and Katie's baby Koi had hatched and Abbey's Barbie pool was in full swing.

It was the same fucking system, he grumbled, as Katie eagerly held star fish and fed penguins and begged to swim with the dolphins and it was fifty bucks extra but what difference did it make, he shrugged, as April raised her 'you're spoiling them' eyebrows at him while he fished out his wallet, since it might be the only chance she ever got to do it, and it wasn't like they couldn't see it, anyway, that she was going to work in a place like this, someday, or do something with aquatic animals, or be a marine conservationist and nag the rest of the world about dolphin safe Tuna, the way she already did them, and her classmates, and her teachers, and even the stockers in the grocery story.

It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, as Abbey reached shyly into the tank, to brush her fingers across a small shark's fin, drawing them back abruptly, wide eyed and shocked, as if she was counting to make sure they were all still there. It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, as Abbey took photo after photo, of bright coral fish and menacing eels, of whales in flight and otters devouring clams, of bug eyed crabs and Alex winning her the smiling pink Octopus in the ring toss.

They'd just have to do it again, next year, he almost caught himself thinking – if it all, well, if the system ever did anything right for once – and then it wouldn't have to be like this, with everything all tentative like it could end at any moment and the girls all distracted and worried and April on the phone to her parents and Beth – who all had Eric at her place, and were meeting them at Disney later that week – and it could be more freaking normal then, with annoying sisters and frowning in laws and everything.

It sucked that it had to be like that, too, he frowned the next day – since Eric had crabby grand-parents and an annoying aunt, while Abbey and Katie still struggled with it, what to call them and how to answer their questions, since it wasn't like they even knew where they'd be the next month, and it sucked that Eric would get it all, the whole fucking proud grand-parent thing– even if they didn't think much of his father – just because he was the real kid, while the other kids got the table scraps.

It sucked all around, being the other kids – who were always third class, behind the real pets, even – and April could stare her 'you're spoiling them, again' daggers at him all she wanted but it wouldn't change anything, that he wasn't just going to watch it, even if it was a little pricey, all the extra film for Abbey's camera, and the silly Little Mermaid lamp she'd fallen for at the gift shop.

It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled to himself, again, when Katie eagerly grabbed a brochure about the aquatic life summer camp that the place was running the next year, and it sucked that they couldn't just enjoy it, when Abbey asked him to pose for pictures with Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and the Little Mermaid, and on the spinning Teac Cup ride, before they took their turn.

It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, toting Eric as Beth and Abbey and Katie raced off to take a ride down the Witch Mountain, and giggled and hiccupped their way down the water slide; it sucked that they couldn't enjoy, he thought hours later, as Abbey grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the Ferris wheel, clutching his arm tightly as they soared above the tree tops.

It sucked that she'd been scared of that ride, too, he imagined, until he realized that it was a con, too, and he was on it again with her – and her beloved camera – the next day, and it would be awesome, she assured him eagerly, the shot she'd get of the whole park, as they soared up into the sky.

* * *

><p>It would kill him, April imagined weeks later, laughing as she scanned through Abbey's photos – the one of him seated on the spinning Tea Cup, and she imagined posting it at the hospital, and she imagined it might be an even better option for black mail then her photos from their honeymoon if it came right down to it – her need to get his spoiling the girls under control.<p>

Not that it was the immediate problem, she reminded herself as she sorted through her closet, since she hadn't worn very many dresses lately, and it wasn't like she was the same size – or shape – she used to be, and it wasn't like she could walk into the next legal hearing looking like one of Sloan's busty stripper clients, and it wasn't like anything fit all that well. It was just as well, she sighed moments later, and it would probably be chilly in the courthouse, anyway, and she'd just wear a sweater over her blouse and be done with it.

It was about what she expected, anyway – not that she'd ever expected to be there, exactly, in court, petitioning to take children from their mother – and it was awkward and uncomfortable, with Abbey in her Little Mermaid sun dress, which matched her lamp, of course, April remembered, rolling her eyes – as if he'd ever cared about anything "matching" before, as long as it was clean – and Katie in her Save the Dolphins shirt and Alex in his crooked tie and pinchy shoes – as if that was even a word – and her in her too tight blouse and the sweater she'd just realized on the ride over was missing a button.

It would be fine, Beth reminded her again, via text – while she was no doubt spoiling Eric rotten, since it seemed to be a growing conspiracy – and it would all work out, her mother had assured her again that morning over the phone, as if anything ever worked out the way she expected, either – as if she'd seriously planned to have two adopted grandchildren and a doctor son in law who ate cotton candy and hot dogs for lunch, and a daughter who'd gotten pregnant doing it on the world's ugliest carpet, which didn't match anything else in the known universe, even on Mars, even if it was technically clean.

It would all work out, she repeated, forcing herself to breathe, but not at all in the way she expected, and she was stunned when the judge announced it – even for the children to hear – that their mother had surrendered her rights to them with no contest, that it wouldn't even be happening this time, the hearing, that it was settled, that the girls were theirs, and that all it would take to make it official, was to sign the forms beside them.

It rattled through her brain, jarring her, and she caught it almost immediately, Alex's face reddening as he heard the words, like it sucked the air out of his lungs, too, though it might have just been Abbey, who maybe hadn't heard it all, and who'd just thrown her arms around him happily instead, and April almost lost it right there when she heard it again, the small shaking voice asking him "You're my daddy for real now, right?"

* * *

><p>It wouldn't quite come out, any actual words, and it was tightening around him as she burrowed into his neck and it wasn't what he'd expected at all – since he knew all about it and it never worked out for kids like them – but it did this time, apparently, and it still wouldn't expand enough for him to take a deep breath, his chest, but he pulled her closer anyway, even if he'd hear about it later from April, about how he'd wrinkled her little Mermaid dress.<p>

It wouldn't quite come out, and it lodged worse once she whispered it into his ear, another breathless promise that "it's okay, daddy," another promise of pancakes the next morning, as her flowing auburn hair tickled his face, and it was nothing like he ever expected, even if it came with pink glitter and lumpy breakfasts and embarrassing photos and flagrant con jobs and over-priced table lamps.

* * *

><p>It was still shaking, her hand, as she signed her name again and again, and it was entirely up to them, she assured the girls, that they could still keep their last names if they wanted, and it wasn't an issue at all, as Abbey proudly printed out Abbey Elizabeth Karev in her neat block printing, and it was a point of defiance, April imagined, as Katherine Jane Jensen was scrawled with a quiet scowl.<p>

They got it, they assured her quietly, as the social worker came over to meet with them again – that it would be hard for the girls to accept, that their mother had just left them behind, and that they would still have court ordered sessions with the counselors, and that they would still have follow up visits, to see how they were all adapting, and that it wouldn't be easy, since they already had a child of their own.

"Three," April snapped, since Katie was already sitting beside Alex across the room, while Abbey still clung to him. She was sure it wasn't intentional, that it was just a slip of the tongue, but she'd worried about it from the beginning, that it would be like that with careless people, like Eric would be theirs and Abbey and Katie would be – something else –and she was going to put a stop to it anytime she noticed it, since really, it wasn't like Alex held onto Abbey any less tightly on the Ferris Wheel because she didn't have his genes, and it wasn't like Katie was any less mouthy, even if she wasn't biologically 'his,' and it wasn't like anybody else's daddy ever got more enthusiastic pancakes, even if they were… crunchy.

"It will be fine," she heard herself tell the social worker, and it would be, she'd see to it, and they'd work with the counselors if they needed to – though she was fairly sure that all Abbey would need to adjust completely was a stash of animal crackers – and it was finally sinking in as she watched them across the room, that it was three kids forever from that point on – unless they started doing it again on that shag carpet, she remembered with a smirk – and that it was the last thing she'd expected, that she'd ever adopt two little girls, until it had somehow become all she could imagine.

It was three kids, she reminded herself, as Beth returned with Eric later that afternoon, and it was super soaker wars and river rocks piled on the deck, again, after Alex ditched his pinchy shoes and the crooked tie for something more him, and it was Atlantis 2.0 bubbling away and photographs of everything and reading lists to argue over and book bags to clean and sticky colored plastic blocks everywhere – even, somehow, in the washing machine – and it hit her later evening, as the whirlwind swirled around her, that it might never be alphabetized again until they all went off to college, her once pristine pantry.


	12. Chapter 12

It came nearly four months later, a cryptic message from Amber saying that she wanted it, a little blue pin that had been their mother's. He was sure he'd seen it in one of the bags, and he went to retrieve it later that evening. It was packed, the spare bed room, now that Abbey kept most of her photography stuff in there, and they'd been waiting for it, for the girls to decide that they wanted their own rooms.

April swore it would be coming any minute – she knew it, she assured him, because she had four sisters – but it wasn't working out like that, exactly. It was a slow migration, instead, as Katie spent more time with her fish tanks and the pond and the kids up the street, while Abbey spent more time with her photos and her computer and the little girl next door, and it was being over-run he noticed with a smirk, since the room already had her comforter on the bed and her Little Mermaid lamp on the table and the photo print cut outs that followed her everywhere.

He should move it all out, he imagined as he scanned the corner shelves, his old trophies and his mother's stuff, since she'd need the space at this rate, and he'd already dug it out by the time she'd returned, the little blue pin, and he mentioned it to Abbey casually, that he'd move the rest of it out that weekend, and it confused him when she stared up at him, baffled and scowling.

"I like it," she insisted, shaking her head. "I polished them," she pointed out, running her fingers over one of his old trophies.

"You don't like wrestling," he smirked. "And it'll give you more space. I'll just put them downstairs."

"I like these, too," she whispered, tugging the faded old photos from a nearby bag.

"You don't even know them," he pointed out. "Well, most of them," he added gruffly, since he was in one of them, with Amber and Aaron, which had been taken back before they were all split up the first time, or maybe the third, he couldn't quiet tell.

"I make up stories about them," she admitted sheepishly, shrugging. "That's your mom, right?" she asked quietly, a moment later, pointing to the box with the gold engraved name.

Alex nodded, sighing. "It's creepy, huh?" he added.

"You still miss her?" she asked, staring down at the bags again.

He nodded silently, shuffling his feet.

"I miss mine, too, sometimes," she whispered. "But I like it here better."

"You do, huh?" he laughed, "In the creepy room with all my old junk?"

"It's not junk," she insisted, shaking her head. "It belongs here, like me."

"It does?" he frowned skeptically.

"It does," she repeated, sitting down at her desk and calling up her photo editing software. "She's my grandma, right?" she added. "I've never had a grandma."

"You have grandma Keppner," he reminded her, almost wincing.

"I don't think she likes us," Abbey frowned seriously, and he couldn't quite tell if she meant her and Katie, or her and Katie and him, or just her and him, since Katie was always the center of attention when they went to Ohio, but he wasn't inclined to argue either way, really, even if they really would love Abbey if they just gave her half a freaking chance.

"She doesn't really know you, yet," he pointed out, returning the bag to its shelf, after pocketing the pin.

"Maybe," she agreed reluctantly. "And yes," she added, rolling her eyes as he glanced over her shoulder. "I know. Don't copy it, don't forward it, don't print it out for mommy," she repeated, echoing previous instructions she'd heard many times.

"That's not leaving your little memory chip," he insisted again, pointing sternly at the photo she'd taken of him and Minnie Mouse splitting a strawberry milkshake at Disney Land, as he moved toward the door. And it had better not, he grumbled to himself as he walked down the hall, or he'd never hear the end of it.

It figured, April thought, as she hung up the phone, Beth's first Christmas in Seattle, and of course their parents were coming to visit, and of course they'd stay at Beth's, since it wasn't like April hadn't lived in Seattle for years, and it wasn't like they'd trek across the country just to visit her, well, her and her vegetable hating husband.

Not that they had much extra space, she admitted, since Katie had Atlantis 2.0 bubbling in one of the spare bedrooms, and Abbey had spilled over into the other, and Eric's blocks were taking over the basement.

It wouldn't be a problem, she grumbled, if certain people didn't insist on spoiling her children, and it wouldn't be a problem if Abbey wasn't a pack rat, and the family historian, and apparently determined to save everything for posterity, even photos of the baby Koi's first swim, and Eric's first fire house, which, really, looked like it had already suffered a natural disaster, though not a fire, to be fair – more like an earthquake, and it wouldn't have been a problem, if Abbey wasn't winning swimming trophies left and right, and Katie wasn't cornering the market on fish magazines and aquarium décor, and if Eric wasn't building a Lego Empire in the basement – though he was barely two years old – and if Winston and Gracie and Tobey and the rest of zoo weren't dragging home their own bizarre memorabilia.

Abbey was going to be a museum keeper someday, she imagined, as she poked into her new room – since she loved the old Victorian day bed and the fancy bronze picture frames the house's previous owners had left behind, and she stashed Alex's old pictures in the antique writing desk that had been lingering in the attic – possibly for sixty years – which he hauled down for her, after she'd insisted that it was supposed to be in the room, too, with the day bed, and it was all frilly lace on the sheer floral curtains and tassels on the Mermaid lamp and it was almost like a step back in time, if you ignored the computer gear and the cell phone charger she had, since Santa had already gone over-board again that year, even though it was still a week before Christmas.

Not that that mattered, she reminded herself, rolling her eyes – since all the other girls on the swim team had one, and she got it, she did – that he'd always been the kid who didn't have it, whatever it was that all the other kids had – and she got it, she did, that kids like that grew up to buy utterly impractical cars that were no match for Seattle winters. But it was the principle of thing, not that she could believe she'd actually said that to him, that it could at least wait until Christmas, even if it was loosely associated with another semester of straight A's, and perfect conduct, and something else that April was sure Abbey had on Alex, since it usually wasn't that easy to con him, even for Abbey.

It was another matter altogether with Katie, and they actually agreed on it for a change – no ice skates, unless she pulled up her reading and history grades – and she should've been able to do it in her sleep, but she didn't, and she just needed to try a little harder, but she wouldn't, and it would just simmer between them, because it wasn't fair to Abbey, if Katie got everything she wanted despite it, and it had to be that way – April insisted – because otherwise it would just fester between them, all of them.

It was another matter, altogether, she agreed, rolling her eyes as she peeked into Atlantis 2.0, since it was just a zoo with her – whereas Katie was running a mini-Sea World – and it would probably be all her fault someday, when Abbey dragged Katie onto Oprah, and complained about the incessant bubbling that was the background soundtrack of her childhood, and how it was all her adoptive mother's fault.

It still jarred her sometime, the term, and she didn't know how to answer it, at first, when her mother asked her what the girls would call her now, and it was awkward and uncomfortable, when she was asked about what they liked, and what they wanted, since it wasn't like any of them knew each other very well, yet, and it wasn't like her family had taken all that well to Alex at first, either, but she certainly didn't want to see any signs of it, that Eric was somehow more important to them, even if it was a minor miracle – as her father said – that a Keppner woman had finally had a baby boy.

It figured, she grumbled the next day, that her pantry was a mess, and it figured the following day, too, that pine needles covered the floor, as tree decorating was finally completed, and it figured, that the refrigerator door was smeared with maple syrup and Gracie and Tobey tracked mud through the hall and Eric dumped peas all over the table and of course she'd have to work two days before Christmas, while her parents flew in from Ohio, and were whisked off to Beth's perfect house, with the grand two story entrance and the gleaming, polished wood floors and the pristine, stainless steel kitchen.

It figured, too, she rolled her eyes halfway through her shift, glaring at Alex as she called up to X-ray, while he insisted it was just a sprain.

* * *

><p>"I told you so," April muttered, calling impatiently to the X-ray technician, and it was crazy, because kids fall off sleds all the time, and kids sprain things all the time – and he'd know a freaking sprain when he saw one, being a Peads surgeon and all – and he just folded his arms over his chest as Katie chattered happily with the nurse and selected an electric red and green cast, in case it was broken, which it wasn't.<p>

It was another half an hour, until the Ortho Resident on call confirmed that it was just a sprain – as if she'd trust a Resident over a freaking Attending – and it wasn't even a hard cast, just a silly removable thing and some ice, and it wasn't even tears or stitches, either, and it wasn't like they could wrap the girls in bubble wrap or anything, and it wasn't like they'd stop using the Super Saucers because, really, had she seen it out there, it was a freaking winter wonderland, and it wasn't his fault that Katie hit it at just the wrong angle, the ice patch that pitched her halfway down the hill in one big thud.

It wasn't like kids didn't heal fast, anyway, he insisted, and it wasn't like Katie wouldn't get right back out there, since, really, hadn't she met Katie before, and it wasn't like he was dragging them over to Beth's house without her – since how boring would it be, anyway, when there was choice snow on the ground – and it wasn't like they weren't going over there the following day, anyway.

* * *

><p>She didn't want to hear it, since she'd told him so – and she'd seen it in her mind a thousand times, the girls hurtling down icy hills on those death traps, and it always ended the same way, with full body casts and ambulances and sirens and shredded red plastic as far as she could see. She didn't want to hear it from them, either, about how daddy was "fun," since he was always flinging them down mountains and hunting dinosaurs in the back yard and clamoring onto Ferris wheels with them, while she nagged about neat homework and room cleaning and the importance of a well-organized refrigerator vegetable bin for optimal health.<p>

She didn't want to hear it at Beth's two days later, either, about Cari's great discoveries and Dani's busy lunch schedule and Jenny's looming partnership vote, since it was still racing through the grape vine, rumors about the on-going merger and the hospital's research program and whether it was a top choice for in-coming Residents anymore.

She didn't want to hear it at home, either, about how Katie really didn't need the soft cast and really didn't need to skip sledding for a week or two – much less the whole freaking Christmas break – and she didn't want to hear it that night either, about how Santa thought ice skates were acceptable since her last history exam was a "B," and about how Santa concluded that a fancy new lens was practical, as if Abbey wasn't obsessed enough with her photography, and she really didn't want to hear it, about how toddler Eric "obviously wanted" the three thousand piece Lego Wild West Adventure set, complete with the working stage coach and the whole herd of wild horses and the complete crew of cowboys.

She didn't want to hear it the next day, either, as she went shopping with her mother and Beth, about how much fun the kids had with Alex – when he wasn't trying to kill them, apparently – and about how much fun they used to have sledding on the farm – back when Beth was dropping snow down her coat and Jenny was tying her boots together, back when her sisters all raced off ahead of her because she never could get the hang of it – the whole ice skating thing – and about how it was all falling into place for her, as if they hadn't heard a word she'd said about the merger or Katie's accident or pack rat Abbey or the junior architect with more Legos than an entire village of Santa's elves.

She didn't want to hear it, either, as she picked up her ornaments, about how Beth was still tired from traveling, and she didn't want to hear it, as they sat at the food court sipping their hot chocolate, about how exhausting it had been for her mother, with five girls, and a farm to run, and a house to clean, and traditions to maintain – traditions she hadn't been all that fond of, she insisted, when she got right down to it, but which her mother-in-law had insisted she keep up – and she was almost sure she hadn't heard it all, when her mother commented on how sweet her girls were, as if they were actually hers.

It echoed through her for hours afterwards, her mother's words, and she hadn't said any of it – that Alex was irresponsible with them, that April was working too hard, that Katie was too mouthy, or that Abbey was too clingy, or that Eric was somehow perfect, or that her home was a wreck, or that sleds were too dangerous, or that she was doing it all wrong – the tree decorations or the girls or the house or her job or the syrup on the fridge – and it all slowed to a trickle, her racing thoughts, as Abbey paged through her pictures and Katie polished her ice skates and Alex and Eric surrounded her neatly tended manger, set just perfectly under the twinkling tree, with little Lego cowboys and Indians.

She'd had it all planned differently back in late August, their first real Christmas together as an official family – it would be stockings lining the fire place, which she still hadn't gotten around to, and perfect Christmas cookies, which she hadn't had time to help Abbey with again this year, and a tree which didn't shed pine needles all over the carpet, and a special event that each of the children could remember – and not Katie's trip to the Emergency room, she muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

It was nothing like that, though, it was an over flowing bath tub and squabbling sisters and Eric fussing over a new tooth, and it all collapsed into a heap hours later, after the kids were in bed and the worst of the wrapping paper had been rounded up and the cats had been untangled from the tinsel and it had started snowing again and she finally had a moment to breathe.

It might even have been calm and peaceful just then, but it was stirring under her fingers as she teased him and it was making him gasp again, after she'd finally unwrapped him, and it was stiffening in her hands as he moaned beneath her and it was already erupting after she straddled him, and it was tightly pressed against her afterwards, as he trembled beside her, and it was a polished golden sheen in the dim light of the fire, his body, as she traced it carefully, and it was all he could do to catch his breath again, too, as her hands slowed into a steady rhythm, while she curled lazily around him.

"You're good at it, you know," she teased, giggling as he gasped again, in response to her soft strokes.

"I am, huh?" he smirked, groaning again as she rolled her eyes.

"I meant the dad thing," she corrected smugly, shaking her head.

"I though you said I broke your daughter," he muttered warily, echoing her own sharp words from the emergency room as her hands continued to wander.

"Sprained," she admitted, giggling as she stroked along his spine.

"I told you so," he noted, moaning again as she found just the right place.

"No," she insisted, tracing her hands lazily back over him again. "That was broken. I have the pictures of our honeymoon to prove it, remember?"

"Whatever," he mumbled, dozing peacefully as she tugged him closer.

It was supposed to be different, she thought with a smirk, as the snow danced faster outside the huge window, and the tree lights blinked slowly beside them, and the fire crackled, and an exhausted Santa slept peacefully in her arms, on a sea of over grown sea weed shag carpet; then again, it was supposed to have been different, too, their honeymoon, and it wasn't like his damned stubbornness had done it any permanent harm, she smirked again, pulling it closer to her as she drifted off to sleep herself.

* * *

><p>It was all over the grapevine that spring, news about the merger, about who was coming and who was going and he hated it, since it meant big changes, and it was already chaos, as new interns poured in and established Residents left and Attendings quietly applied for jobs elsewhere, and it was madness all through February, and it was insanity in March, and it all hit the fan in April, and by May the whole staff had had it, with the rumors and the policy changes and the controversy over who'd be the new Chief.<p>

It was Bailey, he assured April later that week, it would always be Bailey, had always been Bailey – could only ever have been Bailey – and it meant things would finally simmer the hell down and order would be restored and it would be… better… better, he insisted almost breathlessly, and he hadn't even noticed it, really, the fraying of his nerves as the merger had proceeded, until the NICU and Peads and the Trauma units were all up and running smoothly once again.

It was that time again, too, and he frowned as he rooted through his closet, digging out a tie and the world's most uncomfortable shoes as he heard April rustling around for hers. He didn't see the point of it, since it wasn't like all the other guys wore ties, or that he'd embarrass her or something, and it wasn't like all the other mother's dressed like, well, her, and it wasn't like they didn't know what to expect from the parent teacher conferences by now, that it would all be straight A's and smiles with Abbey's teacher, and something else entirely with Katie's, as if it was her fault she was so freaking energetic.

It was getting late, too, he reminded April, jiggling the keys as she switched shoes again, and he just didn't get it, either, why it was such a project to pick out a dress, and why she gave him that look again when he told her it was hot, as if it was a bad thing, and it just set him sighing as he dropped back onto the bed again, while she ditched it for the skirt and sweater she'd had on six outfits ago.

It was about what he expected, and Abbey grabbed his hand and led him right through the classroom and introduced him to Mrs. Clarkson, again, and told her he'd be perfect for career day, and eagerly pointed out her work, a model she'd helped her group build of the Roman coliseum, and an illustrated essay she'd written about life during Pilgrim times, and a series of elaborate drawings she'd made, of flowers and buildings and the creek behind their home and their house from every angle.

It was all very impressive, the teacher agreed, and Abbey was one of the best in the school at drawing and picture taking and anything with the visual arts, and she should try painting or sculpting, the woman suggested, to see what other talents she might have, and it was a pleasure to have her in the class, since she was bright and hard-working and cooperative and always helped the other kids, too.

It made Abbey blush, he noticed, and she just nodded shyly when the teacher talked about summer art camps, and she just clutched his hand harder when she asked him if he could stop by some time, to talk to the children about what it was like to be a doctor, and it was out of her mouth before he could even say anything, that her daddy was an awesome doctor who saved kids' lives, and it almost made him blush, too, when the teacher insisted that he must be very proud of his daughter, too.

It was still lodged in his throat ten minutes later, when April stalked down the hall with Katie in tow, and she demanded that he go and speak with Mrs. Miller, too, and it was a different story altogether, about sloppy work turned in late and penmanship that was barely readable and her general attitude toward anything she wasn't interested in, which included most anything involving school, apparently, and it was just an on-going problem, the woman insisted, and it was absolutely exasperating.

It would have to be dealt with, too, she insisted, eying him sternly as she shoved a pamphlet into his hand, and they had a special program for kids like her, with smaller classes and more staff and more focused attention, and it was not a learning disabled class, she insisted, it was for behavioral issues and it wasn't like she couldn't do the work, it was that she wouldn't, and it would help her get more focused and she might fit into it a little better and she could start it in the fall and it might be her best chance.

It was a long ride home, too, with the girls in the back, and they stopped by Beth's to pick Eric up and it was stormy silence from Katie's room later that evening, as Abbey bubbled happily about her projects, and it was awkward and terse as they poured over the brochure and it was like they were writing her off, Alex grumbled, and it might be her best option, April countered, and it was an awkward stalemate.

He'd seen it before, all the time, kids like her, dumped in the stupid classes when they really just needed more time, dumped in with the losers when they just needed more patience, dumped into a black hole when they just needed more attention, and it pissed him off that the school just wanted an easy way out, just because she wasn't sweet and cooperative and charming like Abbey was.

* * *

><p>He was being completely unreasonable, and it wasn't a bad idea, and they still had time to register her for it for the fall, and it wasn't like anything else they'd done had worked – not threats, not bribes, not punishments – and it wasn't like she had any better ideas, and it wasn't like the counselors and the social workers were being much help, and it wasn't that she didn't get it, that Katie was still angry about all of it, but it wasn't like she could keep acting out about it with no consequences, not and risk it derailing her school career entirely, not when she was much too smart for that.<p>

It festered between them, all through the June heat, and it simmered into July, and it was angry and surly and furious, since it meant being separated from her friends, and it meant that the teachers were somehow right about her, and it meant that it was unacceptable, somehow, that she was unacceptable somehow, and however she explained it– he insisted through gritted teeth – it meant that she was being sent away again, even if it was just a different bus and a different building and a different roster of classes.

It was too many "differents," April agreed, for a kid who'd already had more than her share, but it couldn't be helped and it was for her own good – and she cringed as she said it, and she filled out the forms herself and it was a last minute again, the registration, almost like those years before, before it had been made all official, their family, and it would be like that all over again, April frowned, since she'd be the new kid, again, and the late kid, again, and the kid who hadn't been cutting it, again.

It would mean splitting them up again, April noticed reluctantly, and it wouldn't bother Abbey, she knew, since she'd been that sister herself, the one that just got pushed aside while the loud one or the opinionated one or the busty one or the brilliant one got all the attention, and it would probably thrill her, April imagined with a smirk – that Katie was being shipped off where she could have the whole damn school to herself – and it wasn't like Katie couldn't handle it, either, since she was anything but clingy, and it just made her shake her head again, the whole sister thing.

It might even be a good thing, she imagined a week later, as she reviewed their new bus schedules, that one would go to one school, and the other to another, since it might cut down on the squabbling she'd noticed all summer, and it might do them some good, to have different friends and different activities, and it might be the best thing for both of them, if Abbey joined the swim team and the photography club and maybe took art classes, while Katie played soccer and did group activities with her new class.

* * *

><p>It was just as well, Alex imagined, that Katie over slept and missed the bus on her first day, and it was just as well that she sat steaming beside him as he drove, arms crossed angrily on her chest, and it was probably just as well that she was pissed, because it sucked that they were sending her to some crap new school, and it sucked that they just didn't see it, that she could do whatever the hell she wanted if she just put her mind to it, and it sucked that she was on a different bus, since it had always been her job to take care of Abbey, and she was basically being told that that was one more thing she sucked at.<p>

They didn't get it either, he imagined, that Abbey was clingy because she could be, because she'd always had sometone to cling to, and Katie wasn't because she hadn't, and it was just one more reminder that she never would. He tried to get it out, too, in words, that he got it. But it wouldn't come, and it wasn't like she'd believe it, anyway.

He tried to get it out with the school counselor, too, after the first note came home two weeks later – to April's chagrin – and he finally dragged in to meet with another teacher, and to see if there was anything else they could do about it.

It was another brochure this time, about another special school, and it was freaking 15 thousand bucks a year, and it was hard to get into, but it was all about science, and it was all about fields trips and fancy labs and scuba diving and it was all about taking each individual kid's interests and working with them and it was the kind of place that might appreciate Atlantis 2.0., or Katie's ability to identify every North American crustacean by name.

It was a long shot, the teacher explained, and expensive, and a gamble, and it might just set her back further, if she kept going the way she was, and she'd never get admitted with her current behavior, and it wasn't like it wasn't competitive, since all the kids there were smart, and it wasn't like they had any tolerance for nonsense, since they took it all very seriously, reading and writing included.

It was a lot to digest, and it earned him a baffled scowl from April, as if he'd lost it completely, and a bored frown from Katie, who stalked off not to do her homework again, apparently, and it just sat on the counter for two weeks, getting covered with mashed peas and pancake syrup, as Abbey excelled in her cooking and art classes, too, while Katie collected more hours in detention.

It was pointless by then anyway, he imagined, since she was well on her way to ruining this school year, too, and he got it – that sometimes it was all you had left, the impulse to fight back, when it seemed like it was all being taken away from you bit by bit, anyway, everything else – and it wasn't like it was anything but damn depressing, to watch it happen all over again, sure he couldn't do anything about it.

It was ridiculous, anyway, and it was coming up on Halloween, again, and he'd just come back in from hanging another six spider skeletons in the trees, one of Abbey's art projects, apparently, when Katie slipped it under his fingers, a smudged sheet of note paper, scrawled over top to bottom.

"It wants an essay," she said, eying him closely as she motioned to the brochure. "The school."

"It's kind of late," he noted gruffly, pointing to the rapidly closing deadline.

"It's good," she insisted, glaring back at him and daring him to read it.

"I thought writing was for dorks?" he snorted, repeating her frequent point back to her.

"It is," she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest again.

It had nothing to do with the school, and it didn't really answer the assigned essay question, something about what it meant to be an American, and it was all about dolphins, instead, about how she'd gotten to swim with them, once, and how she wanted to study them, and how she wanted to save them; about how it was hurting the oceans – too much fishing and too much garbage and too many people who just didn't care about it – and that she wanted to take care of it herself.

It was supposed to be typed, too, like the rest of the application – which she'd already filled out, in green ink – and it was supposed to address why she wanted to go to that school in particular, which it didn't – and it was supposed to be reviewed by a teacher, one of the teachers that she wouldn't do her homework for anyway – so he just shrugged back and told her to stick it in an envelope and they'd take it to the post office the next morning, and send it first class.

It was probably a waste of time, anyway, he reminded himself the next morning, as he watched her go to the post office window, and she was probably nothing like what they were looking for in a student, really, with their expensive equipment and their perfectly maintained grounds, and it would probably be another disappointment – another reminder that whatever people were looking for, she wasn't it – but it wasn't like she could stop trying, he imagined, so it wasn't like he could, either.

* * *

><p>It was another blustery November, another birthday party for Eric, another Thanksgiving meal at Beth's, another flood of trauma patients – as the holiday rush picked up, with the first hints of sleet and ice – and it all spilled into December, a tidal wave of decorations and cards and ornaments and picture post cards from far off relatives, and a thickly sealed envelope that landed on the door stop with a thud.<p>

April opened it puzzled, vaguely recognizing the school's name – Mayfield Academy - from the thick, glossy brochure Alex had left on the counter, and it puzzled her, the opening letter – something about requiring an interview and making up classes and arranging for a visit and it made less sense the further she read until it hit her all at once, that it had been some sneaky plot, the steady "Cs" Katie had been coming home with, and the relative silence of her teachers, which April had taken as the calm before Katie's ever brewing storm.

She phoned him at work, and she just rolled her eyes as she heard it, the rest of the story, and it occurred to her that they were both crazy, Katie for thinking she'd ever get into a place like that with her grades, and Alex for thinking it made any sense to spend that much money for seventh grade – even if that seventh grade happened to meet at Harvard.

It was insane, she told him on the spot, and it would never work, and it wasn't like he was prone to this particular type of irrationality – not that the big boobed Martian thing had ever been rational, true – and it just made her nauseous, as Katie eagerly scanned the papers when she got home and noted she'd gotten a B- minus in history that week, and that she'd done plenty of interviews before.

She had, April granted, with social workers, and she wondered wildly if that would be part of it too, the problem, since Katie was nothing like the kids they probably accepted and it wasn't like her sketchy childhood would help her with it –not that it was her fault – and it was obvious that Alex hadn't thought it out at all either, or he'd have put a stop to it, and it wasn't like it was happening anyway, and she wondered what he'd been thinking, exactly, if he encouraged her to pursue any of it, since she'd just end up disappointed again.

She had it out with him later that evening, and she tried to be understanding and she tried to get it, but it just made no sense at all, and she still couldn't believe it the next morning, when they were setting up Katie's interview and making plans to visit it – as if it wasn't nearly an hour away – and it was just making her head throb and her stomach churn since she could already see how it would end, with Katie in tears and Alex all surly and more D's on her report card and more notes home from the place that was supposed to be helping her and which still might, if they'd just let it.

It was crazy, she muttered to herself again a few days later, as the pinchy shoes and the crooked tie came out, again, and they set off looking for who knows what, and she heard all about it later that night, about the giant fish tanks in the biology lab and the microscopes at the desks and the summer sailing adventure camps and the dorky kids who actually wore uniforms – as if that could ever be Katie, in any possible universe – and it sounded like a great school, for anyone but her.

Katie wouldn't talk about it when they got home, though, the interview, and it made her grow quiet and sullen again, when Katie retorted that it was too far away, anyway, and it made her face darken over, the glossy catalog they'd given her – with all the rules and requirements – and it just sent her sulking to her room, when April mentioned the price of it, again, and it had been a bad idea from the beginning, she reminded Alex again, even if it did look nice in the pictures.

She was sure they wouldn't hear much more about it, anyway, and she hoped Katie would just forget about it, and it wasn't like she was trying to discourage anything she insisted to Alex later that evening, as he frowned and rolled over and refused to discuss it, too, and it wasn't like they should've done it behind her back, anyway, and it was about as practical as a convertible car in a Seattle winter.

It was just as well that he was pouting the next morning, too, she grumbled, so long as he hung her candy canes right side up, and she might even have time for some baking this year, and she'd do it this year, she promised – stockings above the fire place for the kids – and she was planning it all when the phone rang, and the admissions office from the school asked if they were still interested in it, in an alternative path to entry that they offered a few students each year.

It was unusual, they warned her sternly, and it wasn't ideal, and it was no guarantee, far from it, and it would require Katie to take one of their summer courses at a reduced fee, and it would offer no academic credit, and it would be pass or fail, and she would have to prove it, that she could do the work expected of their students, and that she could do it while behaving appropriately, and it would be entirely make or break, the man insisted, and it would be entirely up to her not to blow it.

It was crazy, April thought wildly, and it was the opportunity of a lifetime – the kind Beth or Cari or Jenny or Dani might get – and it would never work, and Katie would never be able to do it, and it would be a complete waste of money, and it wasn't like it would do her any good, and it would completely disrupt their summer plans, and it was all about false hope, and it was the last thing Katie needed, another big failure on her record, and it was the only thing she could do about the offer, accept it on the spot.

* * *

><p>It would be Katie's Christmas present, April had insisted firmly – as Katie nodded wide eyed – and April had glared at Alex, too, as if daring either of them to protest, and it wasn't like it was cheap, the summer program, and it wasn't like he didn't see the point – about Katie having to earn it – but it still left him grumbly and flustered as he loped down the stairs later that evening and peeked in on it, the sleek new snow board he'd already gotten her, with the dorsal fin design and the shark teeth lining the edges.<p>

It was her, he'd thought the minute he'd seen it, and it was twenty bucks more than any of the others but it was definitely an original, like her, and it wasn't like any of the other kids would have anything like it, and she would've loved it, he imagined, running his fingers over its glossy surface, but he agreed to it, too, so off it went to the rafters lining the garage ceiling, where no one would see it.

It wasn't fair, either, he grumbled, that it was all just because she was stubborn and strong willed and said what she thought, and didn't really care about it, if people liked her for it or not, and it wasn't her fault that she was nothing like Abbey – that she wasn't sweet and bubbly and friendly and popular, and every teacher's dream kid, just like April, he thought with a smirk – and it wasn't her fault that she just wasn't into it, the whole history and reading and English thing, since it wasn't like she couldn't get her point across when she wanted to, and it wasn't like she didn't read plenty about fish and snow boards and soccer, and even space aliens – even if she laughed at him about it, the pyramid building Martians thing – and it wasn't like anyone knew what the hell happened back then, anyway, really, since it wasn't like history was a freaking science like medicine or alien archeology.

It sucked, too, he thought the next day, that she wouldn't have anything under the tree to unwrap, while Abbey tore into her new photo lenses and the editing computer program she wanted, and Eric started on his Lego Emporium Deluxe set, with the revolving escalator and the hinged plastic windows and the satellite dish, and he thought April would get it, that they shouldn't be treating them differently just because Abbey was sweet and Eric was the happiest kid anyone had ever met and Katie, well, Katie just wasn't like that at all.

* * *

><p>She was shocked he stuck to it, their deal, and she was almost relieved, sort of, that her parents and her sisters finally got it, that they actually had nieces and granddaughters, too, and it didn't extend to them, their deal with Katie, and she figured it was progress at least, that her family had decided to spoil them all equally now, and it wasn't exactly her dream holiday, she frowned again, since it was still at Beth's and it was still maple syrup on her own refrigerator and smeared peas on the table and Abbey's craft projects everywhere and soccer balls rolling randomly through hall ways and sticky Legos in the least likely places she could imagine, and it wasn't like she could host them all there, not with her pantry in disarray and cat hair on the couch and an over-grown cactus above the sink and, of course, the dirty glasses that collected constantly in the sink, apparently from serving all of Santa's elves.<p>

She hadn't even gotten around to it again, she noticed, as she pulled Alex closer, lining the fire place with Christmas stockings, and it was already near dawn the morning after, and the cats were already purring beneath the lighted tree, and Alex had been purring beneath her for hours, she reminded herself with a giggle, and at least that tradition was still intact, since it seemed to be inevitable, not that it was a family activity she'd ever mention to her mother, doing it under the Christmas tree with her husband, after the wrapping paper had been cleared away and the children had gone to bed.

She hadn't even noticed it this year, she realized with a smirk, that they'd done it in front of her manger, which was now over run with skiers and construction workers and shop keepers from Eric's huge Lego Emporium, and she rolled her eyes as she glanced over at it draped neatly on the couch, the beautiful silk robe he'd given her, shimmering a delicate blue grey green in the fire light – possibly to match the sea weed shag rug, she imagined with another smirk.

It was shorter than any she had, and it clung to her in places she'd never imagined anything clinging before, and she really could fill it out, she admitted to him after she'd tried it on – even if he had smirked that he'd "told her so" all along, and it surprised her, really, her reflection staring back, because it was something she could imagine Dani or Beth wearing, since they'd always had it, whatever it was guys looked for – besides them, of course, the Martian boobs – and she never really thought about it, that she might have it too.

It never really occurred to her, especially lately, but she'd finally accepted it, that it was staying the way it was, her body, complete with the boobs that still drew speculation on the grape vine, and aunt Edna's hips, and it wasn't like she'd need to hide it, anyway, since it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all already, and it wasn't like he'd been complaining, she reminded himself, since it was always under his hands and his lips and it was all right there, in his eyes and his touch, even if he never said a word about it, except that it was "hot," she thought, rolling her eyes, again, the way that the shimmery silk clung to it all.

It was high praise, she reminded herself with another giggle, and it wasn't like he'd ever say it if he didn't mean it, and it wasn't like he could sugarcoat it if he tried – if he didn't like it – and it wasn't like she was arguing, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she wasn't used to it, the ripple of his warm skin against hers as it curled lazily, wedged between them, and it wasn't like she'd expected it to be, back when she was still furtively glancing through the pretty young nurses' discarded magazines to see how to handle it, and it wasn't like she hadn't learned, she reminded herself with another giggle, that it liked that…and that… and definitely that, she'd noticed long ago, judging by the deep moan – and it wasn't like she hadn't gotten a handle on it, even when it was wet and slippery and quivering and covered in smooth strawberry shampoo, or slightly warmed cool whip.

It was high praise, she reminded herself again, the quivering and the moaning and the lazy curling around her afterwards, even if it was the early dawn after Christmas, technically, and Santa was always exhausted then, she imagined, and she tugged a blanket down from the couch and wrapped it around them, running her hands over him again as he nuzzled against her in his sleep.

It wasn't like she had to hide it, she reminded herself, or like kids would come storming down the stairs any minute, but it wasn't impossible, either, and it wasn't like she had any desire to explain it, even if it was wedged comfortably against them, purring sleepily, and it wasn't like it had scarred Winston or the cats or the little Lego people for life, really, but it was the last thing she ever wanted her children to think, that she and Santa regularly did it under the Christmas tree, and that it was actually a tradition.

* * *

><p>He was good about it until late March, amid a flood of C's and B's from Katie's schools, and a few notes about sloppy work, and one about something he dismissed immediately – since it was obvious the other kid on the soccer field had started it, just because Katie was faster and a better passer and wouldn't put up with it, being tripped just because she was better and blew right by the kid, even if the ref missed it.<p>

She was doing it, too, mostly, holding up her end of the deal, and it was typically her, that she'd take her frustrations out on the soccer field, and it was typically her that she wouldn't say anything about it – the summer program she was working for – and it was typically her, to act like it wasn't really that a big a deal if she screwed it all up, even if it was the only thing that mattered to her.

He got it, and he just left it casually on the counter – the description of the course she'd be taking over the summer, and how she might prepare for it, and what she should probably know ahead of time, before it even started. It looked intense, something about ocean life and maritime history and trade routes and marine ecosystems and it involved sailing, too, and kayaking, and learning to tie fancy knots.

It was puzzling, some of it, even to him, and he read it over again the following morning, hastily wiping off the maple syrup he'd accidentally smeared on it, as Abbey refilled his plate with pancakes and chattered about her oil painting class. That puzzled him, too, the whole different paints thing, since she had separate stands for each kind, and they all needed different papers, as far as he could tell, and it was all about light and angles and something she called composition – which he'd thought was just another word for essay, until she'd demonstrated what it was to him with some of her printed photos, and it all just jumbled together until she showed him her latest masterpiece, which had every color of April's spring weeds pegged perfectly, lining the path to the creek.

It was nothing like the one she'd shown him two months before, the watercolor of the view outside her bedroom, her room, not the one she still occasionally shared with Katie – though they'd been going in opposite directions for months – and it was pretty much her, even though it was a painting of the yard, it was pastel pinks and yellows and greens and light purples and it was glittery and flowing and it was flowers and summer breezes and it was what she saw every time she looked out that window, he imagined, even in late fall, since it was just how she saw things.

It was just her, he'd noticed, just like her drawings of people, which always made them look better than they really did, and it was like what she did with those old photos of his mother's – or the ones they found in the attic, when they'd dragged that old antique desk down for her – it was like she made up stories about them in her head, better stories than they probably had about themselves, and just painted or drew or photo shopped them right into her projects, as if they were people she knew.

He wondered where it came from, sometimes, too, and how she'd kept it, after her own mother just left her, and it was nothing like Katie, who could always just look right through you – whether you wanted it or not – and it pissed him off that afternoon, too, that she'd probably see right through it, and snark on him, even if it was just meant to help her – even if she'd hate it, just because it was meant for that, when really, he was sure, more than anything, she wanted to prove that she could do it herself.

"This is a bribe," she pointed out, taking the huge donut from him.

"Its food," he corrected, unwrapping his own as he received it from the vendor. "I'm allowed to buy you food."

"Its high fructose corn syrup," she countered, eagerly taking a big bite. "Mom wouldn't consider it food."

"You want it or not?" he asked, gnawing on his own, and snickering as she clutched hers tighter.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the first exhibit as they walked into the darkened aquarium.

"It's a big fish tank," she retorted, rolling her eyes at him as he pulled out the visitor's guide. It had all the exhibits numbered, and detailed descriptions of the ecosystems and the fish and the plants they included, and she'd know most of them already just from her magazines, even if they hadn't visited it several times already, whenever a new exhibit came.

"Keep it up," he agreed, nodding avidly. "That's just what Mayfield wants."

"Maybe I changed my mind about it," she retorted, scowling at the glass.

"You chicken?' he snorted. "Afraid you can't do it?"

"I am not," she snapped. "But it's stupid. Who cares about the history of sailing?"

"You want it or not?" he prodded, finishing his donut. "It's a lot of money if you're just going to blow it, you know."

"Who said I'd blow it?" she grumbled, eying him skeptically.

"What is it?" he asked again, pointing to the curious blue creature peering out at them from behind the glass. "Looks like an alien," he added, tapping cautiously at the tank.

"Don't touch it," she insisted, swatting his hand away immediately. "They can hear with their feet," she announced, as if it was perfectly obvious. "You'll scare it."

"Thought you didn't know what it was?" he snorted.

"Whatever," she muttered, walking ahead to the next exhibit, of electric pink and green jellyfish, shimmering against the darkened background of the hallway around them.

"Definitely not food fish," he commented, studying them closely. "Scrawny."

"Poisonous," she added, motioning to their tentacles.

"Cool," they agreed in unison, before moving on through the rays, which had barbs, and the sharks, which hailed from the Indian ocean, and the sea horses with the pregnant males – and, no, they weren't discussing it, and she could just ask her mother if she was curious about it – and it all wound around to the book shop where they found it, a guide for tying sailor's knots, with starter rope included, which she sized up with a puzzled frown.

"Think you can't do it?" he taunted, as he pulled out his wallet.

"I could do it better than you," she retorted, snatching the bag from the cashier.

"No way," Alex countered, snickering at her again. "I'm a surgeon, remember. It'll be too easy for me."


	13. Chapter 13

It was the kind of summer April had dreamed of, once upon a time, with bubbly, cheerful four year old Eric splashing in his little pool, and Abbey practicing her pottery on the deck, and Winston toddling after Alex as he mowed the lawn while Gracie and Tobey played in the creek, and the birds chirping around the feeders and the squirrels racing up the trees, and not a Super Soaker war in sight.

It was utterly peaceful in the house that evening, too, as Abbey made more lemonade before going off to her friend's house next door, and Eric giggled and gurgled through his dinner, and warm breezes blew through the gauzy kitchen window curtains, and she finally organized her pantry and caught up on the vacuuming and it wasn't even sticky for a change – the refrigerator – since it was too warm for pancakes, and Abbey had taken to making Alex omelets and chilled fruit for breakfast, and it was all clear skies and light winds rustling the grass and the lazy swaying of the hammock and stars shooting past a sliver of silvery moon, as his heart beat softly beneath her ear.

She'd noticed it almost immediately, too, three weeks earlier, how the house had settled into a sedate rhythm, almost as if even it breathed a sigh of relief when Katie clamored down the stairs with her green duffle bag in tow. It wasn't like that, she corrected herself quickly, and it wasn't like she didn't miss her, exactly, it was just that it was so much easier with just Abbey and Eric.

She caught it, too, Abbey's visible relief, now that she had it more to herself, the house and the yard and the chatty breakfasts she shared with Alex, which were now uninterrupted by Katie's snark. She got it, too, because that was the thing with sisters, they were always competing for it – time and space and attention – even when it seemed like they were fighting over sweaters or shoes or dolls instead, and it was always like that, she recalled somewhat bitterly, when the other sister was more like him, even though it wasn't like either of them could help it.

It was her and Dani all over again, she thought sometimes, since Dani was athletic and competitive and intense and loved sports and she worked for the Knicks and she'd always be the daughter who shared her father's interests – no matter how much April liked watching basketball, even if she couldn't actually play it well at all, even if she was always on time to gym class - and it wasn't like it was Dani's fault or anything, or even hers, that he just never got it, the medical school thing, even if he was proud of it.

It was always like that, she imagined sighing, and she wondered if it was like that with Abbey, too, since Abbey was nothing like Katie and loved all the things Katie didn't – fashion and books and art and old fashioned furniture and historical stories, and she wondered if she wasn't making it worse between them, too, since it was always about competition with siblings and she'd always hated it, the fighting for time and space and attention, and she was pretty sure Abbey hated it, too.

It was bound to drag Eric in, too, eventually, she imagined, though she wasn't sure how, exactly, since it still took her breath away, sometimes, the color of his eyes and the shape of his face and the shy smile that was Alex all over again, even though they couldn't possibly be more different and it still made her laugh, when the day care people asked her if she was sure Alex was his father, despite the obvious resemblance, and it still made her smirk as she assured them, that they didn't know the half of it.

At least it wasn't like that with Alex, she reminded herself, as she studied his face in the moonlight, since it wasn't all about Eric with him, even though he was a boy – and came with Legos – and it wasn't all about Katie with him, either, even if he spoiled her, and it wasn't all about Abbey, even if it had just moved from animal cracker evenings to early morning pancakes – or omelets with chilled fruit - whatever it was she needed from him.

It wasn't like that with her, either, she insisted, and it wasn't like she favored Abbey, just because she was kind and cooperative and always did her best, and it wasn't like she favored Eric, just because he was sweet and giggly and ticklish and made her heart flutter when he laughed and gazed up adoringly at her, and it wasn't like she didn't miss Katie – or think she could do anything, if she'd just put her mind to it – it was just that Katie needed more of it than the others, more rules and more expectations and more discipline, or it was just going to get worse, her attitude, and it was going to be her un-doing, if she couldn't get a handle on it.

It would just be for a few days, and it wasn't like Abbey or Eric would miss them – since they'd be at the Water Park with Beth and their grandparents – and it was a good time, before Katie got back, and it over looked the ocean, the quiet room he'd booked, and it would just be the two of them for a change, and it was a surprise, he warned the chatty hospital administrator, as he slyly rearranged April's work schedule, too, and it would be a great way to end the summer, before the usual back to school chaos kicked in again.

It was a perfect drive, too, along the California coast, and a great day to have a convertible, he noted smugly, as she giggled and rolled her eyes, her shimmering hair flowing freely under her straw beach hat, and it had expansive floor to ceiling windows – their room – and its own private pool overlooking the bay, and it was towering trees and a babbling waterfall and waves as far as they could see.

"So is this the honeymoon suite," she teased, glancing back at the huge platform bed with the simple white linens and the mound of pillows as he slid his arms around her, before gazing off again at the sail boats in the distance. "I brought my first aid kit. It's in the car."

"Very practical," he nodded, kissing her neck as he traced his hands up along her body. "It's always good to be ready."

"You think so, huh?" she teased, leaning back into his bare body, still vaguely damp from his shower, as it trembled against her.

"Um-huh," he murmured, a deep groan escaping him as he pulled her closer.

"You're going to wrinkle it," she squirmed playfully, almost gasping as he undid the fancy ties to her shimmery silk robe, his fingers brushing her skin.

"That's why I picked it," he reminded her, his cheek nuzzling hers. "It's easy to unwrap."

"I'm the mother of your children," she teased, pushing his hands away and returning to her suitcase.

"Did you bring it?" he murmured, wrapping his arms around her again as the silky fabric slid down her shoulders.

"You can't be serious," she giggled, pulling the shocking orange swim suit from her bag. "It's cut for a James Bond girl," she insisted, frowning skeptically, "or a Martian. It's not me."

"Beth helped me pick it," he noted, kissing along her shoulder. "It's hot."

"Maybe on her," April retorted, playfully swatting at him again, as her robe slipped further from her shoulders. The suit had a plunging neckline, and it angled impossibly high at the hips, and it had diamond shaped cut outs to call attention to every curve – and ever bounce and every jiggle, she imagined – and it had less material than most bikinis, she thought nervously, maybe even most thongs, and it was just completely impractical, since it wouldn't cover… there, and it wouldn't… hold them in place, and it wouldn't … hide them…no offense to aunt Edna… and it probably wasn't even legal in Ohio.

"You're hotter," he mumbled, his lips trailing down her neck, making her shiver.

"It's much too revealing" she insisted, rolling her eyes again, and gasping as his fingers slid up under her breasts as his lips wandered down to meet them.

"It is, huh?" he smirked, his fingers and his lips working more determinedly as the robe pooled at her feet.

"Yes," she gasped, her knees nearly buckling as his skin wrapped around hers, as wave after wave of electric heat coursed through her, with a series of deep groans.

"Then don't wear anything," he shrugged, tugging her out onto the lanai and plunging her into the pool with him.

"I-" she shrieked, shocked as she came for air. "I-" she started, as his lips met hers, and he kissed her deeply.

"I need-"she sputtered breathlessly, shuddering as his hands and his lips closed teasingly around them, as they trembled in his hands.

"I need-" she gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head as her body coiled frantically around him, pulling him insistently into her.

"A swim suit?" he taunted, sliding smoothly into her again, and again more deeply, amid a riot of gasps and shrieks and deep, shuddering groans.

"My towel," she gasped weakly, nearly a half hour later, another soft moan rippling through her as she burrowed into his neck, her body still coiled tightly around him, as he lingered, quivering inside her.

"I thought you said it was in the car?" he asked, nearly two hours later, murmuring again as she warmed it in her hands and spread it over his body, careful to avoid the thick beach towel he was sprawled on.

"That was first aid," she corrected, giggling at his soft moans. "This is prevention," she added, scanning the sky for the late summer sun, and for birds, or planes, or sky divers, or space aliens, or anyone who might see them, since she could just imagine it, having to call Beth or her parents to bail them out, and worse, having to explain it to the children, that they'd been arrested for indecent exposure, after doing it outside in broad day light.

"Good medical advice," he agreed, his eyes fluttering lazily.

"I just want it to be ready," she smirked, giggling as he gasped, since it definitely couldn't hurt, a little more protection there…and there… and definitely there, she giggled again, as his eyes rolled back in his head, while his body trembled beneath her gently kneading fingers.

"So you like it?" he teased, gasping again as she lay back down beside him, her fingers still trailing lazily over it.

"It's okay," she teased, closing delicately around it again as another groan rippled through him.

"You love it," he smirked, stretching leisurely as he tangled her hair in his fingers.

"I do?" she asked, shuddering slightly as his fingers wandered down along her collar bone. It was another thing the pregnancy book had never mentioned about Martian boobs, that all it took was a few light strokes, there… or there…. or there… and it was all erupting all over again, the shrieking and the shuddering and whatever else he'd set her off doing, while her swimsuit waited in her suitcase.

"From what I hear," he nodded, smirking again as his warm hands closed over them, teasing them insistently.

"It's all lies," she gasped, giggling and squirming, and she'd push him away except that they were already melting into his hands, and it was her own fault, she muttered to herself, as the faint scent of coconut lotion surrounded her again, because, he insisted, they obviously "needed protection," too, if she wasn't going to wear her swimsuit, "since it was too revealing and all."

"I brought another one," she insisted, giggling again despite his teasing, as his fingers brushed her hips. "You know, one with actual coverage."

"No, you were right," he shook his head, tracing his fingers between her breasts again, until they poured into his hands. "I like this one better," he observed, outlining each one with a series of light kisses.

"We could get arrested," she protested, moaning again as he slowed his lips, and it was just like him, she noticed, shuddering again, that he'd know all about them, Martian boobs, and exactly what to do… there… and how to knead… there… and how it felt when he did… that… and it all went black again, for a moment, as his rough tongue slid sharply over them, and she shuddered again.

It would just be her, too, she imagined moments later as her eyes fluttered open again, to have to explain a conviction for public nudity to her children, even if the charges didn't specifically mention it, that she'd also been caught doing it in a pool, in full view of the placid palm trees, even if it didn't involve cool whip, at least, not this time.

"I think the sea gulls like this one better, too," he smirked, pulling her closer to him again, his hands wandering freely over her as it pressed lazily against her.

"Admit it," she taunted, tracing her own fingers down his chest. "It wasn't even your idea."

"It was Dani's," he reminded her, frowning.

"Not that," she laughed. "Coming here," she added, gesturing across that pool and the view. "It's not you."

"It's not, huh?" he scoffed.

"It's not," she insisted smugly. "It's beautiful, and romantic. You don't have a romantic bone in your body. Trust me, I've looked everywhere," she teased, tracing her hands over him as he squirmed.

"Maybe you broke it on our honeymoon," he grumbled, struggling not to groan as she demonstrated, again, that she'd already surveyed every inch of him.

"Definitely broken," she nodded seriously, running her fingers along the base of his spine again, as if confirming her prior diagnoses. "But you weren't romantic before that either," she pointed out, giggling again.

"So that's it," he smirked. "You're just waiting for some knight in shining armor to come along?"

"No," she sighed, her eyes dancing mischievously. "I gave up on it, too much polishing, too much maintenance, and I'd never get all that maple syrup off it," she giggled.

"Or the cool whip," he added, nodding seriously.

"Or the cool whip," she agreed, kissing him. "I like this suit better, anyway," she giggled, running her hands over him again.

"It's not too revealing?" he teased, rolling his eyes at her.

"It's you," she smirked, her hands wandering again as another soft moan escaped him. "It's definitely you."

She stashed it in her top dresser drawer when they got back, anyway. It wasn't that she'd worn it, it wasn't that she'd worn any of it, she thought with a smirk, as she emptied her suitcase. But it was still something one of those Martians would wear, and he thought she'd look hot in it, and he thought she looked hot without it, without any of it – and it hadn't gotten them arrested after all – and it was very private, the pool and the deck – and it hadn't gotten sun burned, she'd seen to that – and he hadn't fractured it again, she thought with a giggle, and it wasn't really like they needed another honeymoon, but she did have pictures of it, even if she'd have to hide them, too, she realized with a frown, so she tucked them carefully underneath it, and really, it was something, even if it was completely impractical.

It was a standard school pick-up the following week, too, at least, until Katie charged off the bus, waving a trophy over her head as she dragged her duffle bag behind her. April didn't get it exactly, what the gold gleaming knot could possibly stand for, until she heard Katie announcing breathlessly that hers had been the best in the whole class, and she hadn't remembered anything in the brochure about knot tying, but she gathered it was important as Katie threw her arms around Alex and screeched, "I did it, dad."

It was set after that, that she'd be in the program, and a counselor from the school called April that afternoon, and they were impressed with Katie, they insisted, and it was obvious that she was a tactile and kinesthetic learner, and that they'd be sure to accommodate her, and that she'd need to select a language to study – they recommended Spanish or Chinese, for their potential career value – and she'd be in advanced science classes, since plainly she could handle them, and it would be up to the school reading lab and tutoring staff, her placement in remedial reading and history.

It would mean uniforms and new bus schedules and last minute juggling, April realized after she hung up, and it was a rush to get everything done before the first day, and it was there before she knew it, and it was a new school for Katie, and pre-school for Eric, and the usual bus for Abbey, and she wondered if Katie would suddenly become clingy or if Abbey would suddenly become resentful or if Eric would suddenly become… Alex… or if Alex would suddenly become pouty with the change in his breakfast routine, and it kept her awake that night, anticipating everybody else's meltdown but hers.

It was worse than she expected, because Abbey waved happily to her friends and bounced eagerly onto her bus and couldn't wait for swim team practice to begin and her new art classes to start, and Eric just toddled calmly into pre-school and made a bee line for the block table, and Katie was up on time and in her uniform and snarking on Abbey and Alex and they were all off in different directions and it didn't hit her until nearly 9:30 that morning, as she scanned the surgical board, that they didn't need it at all, the worrying or the hand wringing or the hyper book bag organizing that was the first day of school for her.

It was hiccupping tears in the hall way after that, as Alex stared at her, baffled, and it was a quick trip to a third floor on-call room and it was more weeping as he pointed out she'd probably been awake for three days straight and it was more hiccupping as he pointed out that the girls would need refereeing by dinner and Eric was just downstairs and would be waiting for her at 1:30, anyway – for her and his little gold fish crackers and his juice box – and it was more shaking shoulders and more bewildered stares as he just slid his arms around her and reminded her that he'd need it, too, after this week was over.

It made her laugh, and roll her eyes, and it settled into a steadier rhythm a few minutes later, her breathing, as she lay quietly beside him, and it was getting to him, too, she imagined, Katie's new school and the girls' squabbling and Eric's move to pre-school, even if it was right downstairs, and it occurred to her as he dozed lightly beside her, that they still hadn't done it in an on-call room, even if she had been used to it, to waking in his arms there, sometimes, when they still worked long shifts together.

It was different now, she reminded herself, and she'd seen it coming a month ago, Abbey's jealousy about Katie's new school, and she got it, she did, because it was Dani's sports trophies and Beth's dance lessons and Jenny's horse riding camp all over again, and it was another way in which Katie was special and Katie was the center of attention – even if Abbey was the one doing everything right and following all the rules – and it wasn't fair, April knew, to treat them so differently, but they weren't the same at all, and it wasn't like it would do either of them any good to pretend it was otherwise.

It festered between them, too, over the next few months, and it erupted when Katie snarked on Abbey's art projects and it flared when Abbey snickered back about Katie's hard earned B's – since she was still all A's, and always would be, and they all knew it – and it sparked when Katie rolled her eyes at Abbey's election to class vice president and it rumbled when Abbey laughed at Katie's debate team badge.

It raged across the breakfast table, like a festering civil war, and it bubbled through Eric's fifth birthday party and it rumbled across Thanksgiving at Beth's and it pushed Abbey into her own room permanently and it had Katie eyeing the room in the attic and it was all too familiar and it made April want to strangle them both, after she called her mother to apologize for… basically her entire childhood.

* * *

><p>It never failed, it was always snow, or ice, or sleet, or rain – or something – when he had to drag the stupid candy canes out of the garage and line the porch eaves with them. It never failed, either, that whatever it was, he and Winston would track it into the kitchen with them, and then he'd hear about it, it, and the cheese doodle crumbs on Winston's muzzle, as if it was his fault that Winston was a sloppier eater then Gracie or Tobey, and unlike Maxine, wasn't too proud to beg.<p>

He hated to believe it, too – he thought, as he dragged them into place on a snowy Saturday – that it might actually do her some good, the new school. It was no big surprise that she was holding her own on the soccer field, since she was energetic and determined and fearless, and she'd probably learned it the first week, or the second – that she'd be riding the bench if she sassed that coach, no matter how good she was – and it wasn't like the coach didn't want her to play, it was just that she had to accept it, that she was part of the team, and that it depended on her.

It was how they did a lot of things there, he'd noticed. The classes were in learning teams, and the projects were in project teams, and it was all about competition among the teams – for grades and ribbons and trophies – and it wasn't just English, it was debate team, and it wasn't just chemistry, it was the science team, and it wasn't just history, it was the medieval knights team – against the medieval serfs team – to see who could learn the most, and build the best model castles, and write the best plays – and it was ribbons and trophies and pizza parties along with A's and B's and C's – and it was different, she said with a shrug, when it was for the team, and the team was depending on her.

It was all about goals, too, he noticed, and it was all scheduled and focused, and it wasn't just pick a class to fill up your schedule, it was course counseling and college preparation and it was them telling them it to her straight – that it sucked if languages weren't her thing, but she'd need them if she wanted to do environmental conversation, since the environment was everywhere, and most of the animals she loved most were in the Amazon, and she'd need Spanish to navigate there, and she could learn it if she wanted to – the whole freaking fish taxonomy in Spanish – and it would actually have a point to it.

It was smart, really, the way they did it, since they saw it, too – that she was hard headed and stubborn and wouldn't do a damn thing she didn't want unless she had a reason to, but that she could to do it, if she actually tried.

It was smart that the school told it to them straight, too, that she needed to be preparing for it now, the standardized tests and the application essays and the resumes that came with applying to colleges, and that they didn't take it lightly – the whole college prep thing – since it was their reputation, too, and it wasn't like there weren't other kids waiting to take her place, if she wasn't ready to work for it.

She could complain about it all she wanted to, too, April could – about how it was all too competitive, about how it was all too focused on the future, about how it was all too much – the grading and the ribbons and the trophies and the teams and the constant struggle for everything – but that was just life, and it was what she had to be ready for, and it was the best they could do for her, since it was how she worked, anyway, since she'd always had to do it – be the first one down the hill, or the one with the most soccer goals, or even the one with the biggest room – and April might notice that herself, if she wasn't so busy gloating over the last Monopoly Game she'd won, as if it even involved actual money.

It wasn't a bad idea, either, he thought as he eyed the spare sheets of dry wall in the garage. They'd always intended to finish off the attic, anyway, and there was already a small bathroom up there, and it would probably do them both some good – her and Abbey – to have some space between them, and it wasn't like Katie would be moving across the country – the way April described it, he recalled, rolling his eyes – it'd just be one floor up, and it wasn't like Abbey would like it up there, anyway, since it was too dark for painting and didn't have much of a view and would be too slanted for her easels.

It would have to wait until after the holidays, anyway, though, he reminded himself, as he rummaged for the Christmas tree stands, and it would have to wait until he blew down to the toy shop on 4th and Elm, to pick up the new Robo Kinex Ultimate Universe kit he'd ordered for Eric, and it'd have to wait until he found a way to wrap that weird old dress form thing Abbey had wanted, since even a shower curtain wouldn't cover it completely, and it'd have to wait until he dusted off the snow board he'd gotten for Katie the year before, since that had never part of the deal – that he actually return it – and she'd earn it too, he figured, if she got the B average in history that April was suddenly demanding of her, as if it could wait forever up there in the rafters – the snowboard – without becoming an antique itself.

* * *

><p>It came the next week, a cryptic, clipped message from Amber, which ended up on April's phone. She didn't really know what to make of it, the sudden request for two more small pins her mother had among her things, but it didn't sound like a big deal, and she could just pack them up and ship them off without Alex even knowing about it. Not that that was ideal, she reminded herself, as she scaled the stairs.<p>

But it would be grumbling and pouting otherwise, and the inevitable evasions over how it started and whose fault it was and why it still lingered and it was just better this way, she imagined, as she slipped into Abbey's room, since it wasn't like he'd talk about it, and it wasn't like Amber would talk to him, and it wasn't like she couldn't get it over with, before anyone else even knew about it.

It was neat as usual, Abbey's room, and April stopped for a moment, surveying its current state. They'd painted the old paneling an antique white, Abbey and Alex, and he'd added rows of shelves to the built-ins lining the huge bay window, and they'd dragged the old writing desk down for the attic, and an antique mirror, and Abbey had thrown a fit to keep the floral wall paper, lining the two far walls, and he'd just shrugged and muttered something about weeds on the walls and gotten started on building the hinged window seat.

It would be an easy project, he'd insisted, and April almost laughed remembering it, the eight trips to Home Depot and the twelve stitches to his finger – which "wasn't even freaking cut" – and the debate over how much storage space she actually needed, since she saved everything, and it all came together anyway, she noticed, eying the sewing table in the corner lined with patterns and thread, since museum curating was out that month, apparently, and fashion design was still all the rage.

It was a running joke in the family, Abbey's craft enthusiasms, and April just shook her head as she wandered off to the room's far corner. It would be on the last shelf, she knew – since Abbey was an organized pack rat – and it would be in the corner drawer, under Alex's old trophies, which stood next to Abbey's. It would be tucked in the back, she remembered, the jewelry box Abbey had found in the attic, and which she kept Anna Karev's things in, her bible and her rings and the pins Amber wanted.

It had always been a thing with Abbey, April remembered, a craving for some kind of name and some kind of family, and she'd latched onto Karev with gusto, and she'd even researched it, and it was about what April expected, a story of Russian immigrants – hard-driving railroad workers and hard-working carpenters and hard drinking brawlers and hard-scrabble farm hands and even a hard-edged horse trader/ pharmacist – and she had no idea how that might have worked, as a professional matter – and she had no idea how much of it was true, since it was the internet and all, but it fit what she saw of Anna herself – and her children – a hard life all around, in more ways than she could count.

She had no idea if it was true, really, but it fit Alex, she imagined, and it made Abbey proud of it, as if it was her story too, somehow, and she figured it was probably best not to press the matter any further, since it wasn't like it was bad thing if she believed it, that it had taken her family a lot to get where they were, and that she'd need to do it, too, make something of herself. Heck, April thought, as she fished out the two pins, it was something Katie could use a little more of, too.

It would have to come from her, though, April imagined, scanning the room again – since Abbey already had it in spades, whatever it was – and she smiled as she surveyed the papers spread over her sewing table, the designs of a spring dress, though it was still December. That was part of it, too, April thought, that Abbey the family historian was always planning something, and always looking ahead, even if she had it all filed neatly in the corner, her own personal history as she saw it.

* * *

><p>"How did you even get it in your car?" April asked, laughing as she watched Alex wrestling with the full sized antique wood and wire dress form, as he tried to wrap it and set it near the Christmas tree.<p>

"I put the top down," he scowled, glancing at her, as if it was a perfectly sensible way to drive around Seattle in twenty degree weather.

"I bet that got a lot of interesting looks," she noted sarcastically, giggling again as he stood baffled, while Sadie pawed at the ribbon dangling from his fingers.

"She's hot," he agreed, nodding seriously as he surveyed the curvaceous female shape.

"And headless," April pointed out, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," he shrugged, pulling at the wrinkled wrapping paper piled beside it again. "But look at those-"

"Pervert," she muttered, moving to help him untangle the ribbons, and push Sadie away.

"Oh, yeah," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

"Where did you even find it?" she scowled, wondering what had possessed him to drag it home, well, besides the obvious.

"Abbey saw it in the window of that junk shop across from the art supply store," he said casually. "Guy said it's French," he added, shrugging again and frowning at it, "whatever that means."

"Means you over paid for it," April announced calmly, since really, it wasn't worth arguing about, buying antiques for twelve year old girls, not when five year old little boys were building futuristic empires, and fourteen year olds were hurtling toward their deaths on shark tooth lined snowboards with B- minus grades on their report cards, to be printed in their obituaries for all to see.

"She'll love it," he insisted, shaking his head, and she giggled as he struggled with the paper again, because it was true, even if he didn't get it, that he didn't have to work nearly as hard for it as he thought, not when she still kept his trophies in her room, and smothered his pancakes in syrup, and prided herself on being the descendant of hard working Russian horse trader/ pharmacist/farmers.

"Not as much as you," she teased, studying the figure's – figure – more closely. It reminded her of Beth, really, and if it hadn't been an antique, could have been Beth, she imagined, since she'd lived in Paris for years, before moving to Seattle, and it would be just like her, to have some romantic Frenchman fall madly in love with her, and make her into a dress form for all other women to envy.

"You jealous?" he smirked, still struggling to get her covered.

"That you're riding around in twenty degree weather with a headless model sticking out of an open convertible?" she snickered. "No."

"Admit it," he teased, tossing the ribbon over the model and pulling April to him. "You can't stand it," he announced, nodding smugly.

"That's she's the best you can do?" April scoffed. "It's pathetic, really."

"It is, huh?" he frowned, his hands sliding up her body as she shivered.

"Yes," she insisted, trembling as he kissed her neck.

"Pathetic, is it?" he repeated, pressing closer to her as his arms closed more tightly around her.

"Yes," she squeaked, squirming as his fingers slid up under her robe, releasing the clasp of her bra.

"Um," he nodded, groaning as she pulled the ties on his sweatpants loose, her hands closing around him.

"She's not even your type," April pointed out, continuing to unwrap him as they sank to the floor.

"She's French," he murmured dreamily, trembling in her hands as he peeled the silky robe from her shoulders.

"You hate French food," she reminded him, gasping and quivering as his lips trailed a line of soft kisses between her breasts.

"Like French fries," he corrected, groaning again as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him into her.

"They're not really French," she countered, gasping again as it erupted within her.

It was another thirty minutes before she began to catch her breath, and another ten before he slid out of her completely, with another soft moan, and another ten before it stopped hammering against her chest, his own heartbeat, and it was still wrapped around her, thundering through her ears and pulsing through her body, and it was still making her quiver as it nudged sleepily against her.

"You really wrinkled it now," she noted, giggling again as she brushed some of the wrapping paper from beneath his body, as the fire place flickered in the background.

"You started it," he grumbled, delicately untangling a few strands of tinsel from her hair.

"You're the one who brought that tramp home," she teased, running her hands over him as she kissed him gently.

"I thought she wasn't my type," he teased, trailing his fingers along her breasts again.

"She's not," April snickered. "She's too old for you," she added, shuddering again as he brushed his fingertips over her quivering flesh.

"Yeah," he agreed, his lips following his fingers as she moaned again. "You're hotter anyway," he nodded seriously, nuzzling into her neck as he pulled her closer.

"I am, huh?" she smirked, sliding her hands along his body as he settled into her.

"Um-hum," he agreed, dozing lazily as she continued to trace delicate patterns along his spine.

It was another ten minutes, she noticed, before he was sleeping peacefully, snoring softly into her hot – though not French boobs - and another ten before she realized that they'd still need to get it wrapped by morning, and another five before she noticed that she still hadn't done it – hung stockings along the roaring fireplace, though it was already too late – and another five after that before it occurred to her that it must be some kind of record, for doing it under a Christmas tree, on Christmas Eve, and that she'd have to blame it all on him, if it ever got out on the grapevine – that they'd done in front of a hot headless French woman.

* * *

><p>It came in early January, a terse page from Bailey. It was the last thing he wanted, to be interim head of the NICU, since it was all about administration, and all about paper work, and all about headaches with chatty nurses and demanding department heads and budgets that never added up, and it wasn't nearly enough cutting and cool surgeries – which is what it was all about – and it didn't even have that much to do with the kids, or the relieved parents that beamed back at him when the worst of it was over.<p>

It was the last thing he wanted, but it wasn't like he could say no to Bailey, and it wasn't like he could say no, period, with rumors of another merger and more layoffs and possible department closures, and it wasn't like they couldn't use it, all the extra money he'd earn, since it wasn't like Katie's school was cheap, and it wasn't like the summer art program Abbey had her heart set on wasn't expensive, and it wasn't like Eric was all that pricey, yet, but he was sure it was coming, since it was already soccer and T-ball, and it could be Karate, too, if April would just sign the freaking form.

It was still soccer the next weekend, though, and it was rainy and chilly and possibly sleeting, and it was a muddy mess, the field, and the kids were slipping and sliding all over the place, and it was hard and cold and the ball stung when it bounced off their legs, and it was like he kept telling Eric, that's what sports were all about, pushing it when you didn't want to, hustling after it when you were too tired, forcing it until you won, until you outlasted your opponent in… whatever it was you were playing.

It was the whole point, he told Eric, as they trudged to the car, and it was all about winning, he reminded him, as they drove home in the driving rain, and it was all about competing until you just couldn't take it – even if your shoes were filled up with mud, and the snack mom that week forget to bring goldfish crackers – and it was all about doing your best, and giving it your all, and it was all about being stronger, and getting better, and being invincible, until you took it – the trophy or the ribbon or the scholarship or the award or whatever it was that you got when you won.

It was the whole point, he grumbled, as April fussed over Eric when he charged into the kitchen, dripping and shivering and possibly bleeding a little, and it was all about competition, he repeated, as April glared at him, and it was all about winning – which they did, he pointed out insistently – as she rolled her eyes at him, and it was all about getting stronger and tougher, he insisted, as April told Eric to go take a nice warm bath, while she made him some hot chocolate.

She didn't get it at all, he grumbled to himself the following week, as he filled in the endless forms that came with his position, and it wasn't like you played anything just to play, he reminded himself, as he fidgeted through another department head budget meeting, and it wasn't like anyone would just hand Eric anything – even hot chocolate, he grumbled, rolling his eyes again and it wasn't like six years old was too soon to tell it to him straight, that he'd have to fight for it, whatever he wanted, and that he'd have to work for it, whatever he got, and it would just make things better for him, Alex insisted, if he got it right from the beginning, that it was never going to be easy, any of it.

It wasn't, he reminded himself the following month, sizing up the attic again on a rare Sunday off, since Katie and Abbey were still squabbling constantly, and it might be a good idea, to give them some space from each other, and it might even be better if Eric moved into their old room, since it was bigger and would have more space for his blocks and his trains and for him to practice Karate kicks – if April would sign the freaking forms, since it wasn't like he was made of porcelain, and it wasn't like he didn't need to know how to fight, and it wasn't like he could sign up for wrestling until he was eleven, anyway.

It would be a lot of work, refinishing the attic, he noticed, scowling at the ceiling, and they'd still need to leave some room for storage, and it could use a sky light or two, and it would probably need to be dry walled again, the roughly hewn bathroom, and it would be a big job – not that he couldn't do it, if only he had the time, which he didn't – and it might just be better, he grumbled, sizing it up again, to look it over, the estimate he'd gotten from Lowes, when he'd thought about it the first time.

"It will cause a war," April protested the next month, scrubbing the sink as Alex poured juice into Eric's Scooby Doo cup.

"Huh?" he asked, rooting through the pantry for some cheddar cheese goldfish.

"The attic," she retorted, as if it was obvious. "They'll both want it," she insisted, baffled that he wasn't getting it. "They're already fighting over everything else."

"Yeah," he agreed, shrugging. "So we split them up."

"That's your great idea?" April sputtered, looking at him incredulously as he handed Eric the cup he was reaching for eagerly. "He's going to spill that," she added, frowning.

"He's a big boy," Alex insisted, smirking at him as he handed him the crackers. "He can handle it, right bud?"

"Right, daddy," he giggled, grabbing his crackers and going downstairs to watch Scooby.

"You're cleaning it up," she grumbled at him, rolling her eyes. It was bad enough, she fumed, the dirty glasses in the sink and the snowy footprints tracked across the floor and the junk food he let them eat when she was working late. It was bad enough, without him helping the kids destroy the house.

"It'll only take two weeks," he reminded her, poking his head back into the pantry as Winston gazed up at him adoringly, with those big brown eyes that screamed… cheese doodles.

"And then what?" she countered. "Katie moves away and they never see each other again?"

"Or," Alex corrected, scowling at her, "Katie moves up ten steps, and they don't kill each other."

"It's not like that," she snapped, and it wasn't, because sisters were supposed to love each other, and sisters were supposed to get along, and sisters were supposed to work things out, even if they were mouthy like Jenny or bubbly like Beth or flirty like Dani or braggy like Cari.

"It's an attic," Alex shrugged casually, stuffing some cheese doodles into his mouth and tossing a few to Winston.

"It's not just an attic," she growled, glaring at him, and it wasn't, it was the expensive camera that Beth got when she was fourteen and the dancing lessons that Dani got when she was twelve and the riding lessons that Jenny got when she was ten and the doll house that Cari got when she was nine, and that April would've killed for when she was nine, when she got a sweater instead.

It was always like that, she steamed, it was Katie going to the special school and Katie getting all the attention and Katie hurtling down the hill on a shiny new snow board – even after the B- in medieval history – and it was Katie who took over another whole bedroom with her fish tanks and Katie who had a pond built for her and Katie who was driving this big attic project, apparently, while Abbey and Eric just faded into the back ground.

"It's more space," he said casually, digging into the refrigerator for a soda.

"That's it, huh?" she snorted, rinsing off the wash cloth she'd been using. "Just give them more space?"

"It can't hurt," he shrugged, opening his drink.

"It can too," she snapped impatiently, glaring at him. "It hasn't worked out all that well for you and Amber, has it?"

It tumbled out of her mouth before she knew it, and she watched as it spread across his face, twisting and darkening as his eyes narrowed, and it was late and she was tired from work and upset about the girls and annoyed with Beth and irritated by all the extra shifts he was working – as if it was even the time for them to be doing some renovation project – and frustrated with the kitchen that would never be clean and the pantry that would never stay organized and the dog who was devouring cheese doodles on her freshly swept floor, and it all just erupted and he was gone – the door slamming behind him - before she could even repeat it, that she wasn't signing the stupid Karate form, either.


	14. Chapter 14

It was nearly 11:30 when he returned to the hospital and it was the night shift changeover and it was darkening lights and whispered voices and he poked his head into the NICU, just to make sure it was running smoothly. It was all quiet cooing from six week old Amanda, who'd be going home the next week, and it was still a struggle for two week old Nathan, whose lungs were still underdeveloped, and it was a minor miracle for eight week old Carly when he saw it, the hint of a first smile.

It was piles of paperwork, too, and a late night walk through the dim corridors, and it rattled through his mind no matter where he went, everything she'd said, and it was just a freaking attic – ten freaking steps up – and it was nothing like him and Amber, no matter what she said, and it wasn't his fault, no matter what she thought, and it wasn't like he could've done anything differently, no matter what she believed, and it wasn't like he could've freaking rescued her, when he'd been drowning himself.

It simmered the next day, too, and it spilled over into the next evening, and it was another day before he pulled into the driveway, and another day after that before he even saw her again, and it pissed him off royally, that the kids had picked up on it, and it made him even madder – that the skylights were taking longer than he'd expected – and it kept him awake at night, the flood of meetings and paper work and politics and application reviews as the new permanent head of the NICU was being selected.

It simmered between them the following week, too, and it was cold silence and nights on the couch in the basement, and it was lunches with annoying job candidates and meltdowns by new nurses and a C- in Asian history and a swim meet he almost missed completely – and she still hadn't signed the freaking Karate forms – and it was all just a blur as the Martians rolled through Maine at 3:00 a.m.

It was tax forms the following week, and bills from the contractors, and tuition for Katie's school, and a deposit for Abbey's summer art program, and new uniforms for Eric's T-ball team – and still no Karate outfit – and it was delays and schedule changes and too little cutting and more paper work until he was going cross eyed and he wasn't doing it permanently no matter what Bailey said.

It was chaos in the Emergency Room and she hated it, now that she was back to full time again. It was a disorganized mess in the supply closet, and befuddled interns who had no actual interest in patient care, apparently, and budget shortfalls and staff cuts and it wasn't even certain, really, if their hard won Level One Trauma rating would be maintained, and it was another March snow storm after a twelve hour Saturday shift and it was all she could do to drive herself home without screaming.

It was the dripping Super Spin Racing Saucer sleds on the back porch again, too, which could only mean one thing – he was trying to kill her children, again, on that wretched mountain behind their house– and it was paper plates stuffed in the garbage and dirty bowls in the sink and a trail of dripping snow boots and soggy coats leading to the stairs and it was the papers covering the carpet – as Abbey sorted through her latest picture print outs – and the hot chocolate slopped on the coffee table, and Eric and Alex sprawled on the down stairs couch watching something ridiculous about sea monsters, at least twenty minutes after Eric's bed time.

It was why she wanted to scream, she imagined, as she dropped onto the couch beside him, and it was ten minutes of watching Abbey sort and text and giggle, before Abbey was running back upstairs in a flash, and it was another ten minutes before she realized that the sea monster thing was supposed to be a documentary, and it was another ten minutes before she noticed the red and brown smudges on Eric's cheek, as he slumped burrowed into Alex's shirt, dozing peacefully.

It still startled her, sometimes, the length of his eye lashes and the shape of his chin and the curve of his cheek and the way his face settled into that soft pout, so much like his father's, and it still made her heart flutter in her chest, sometimes, his familiar soft sighs, as Alex absently held him closer, and it still made her smirk, the sleepy smile as she reached over and delicately brushed the crumbs away.

"He had radishes and cucumbers," Alex grumbled defensively.

"On pizza?" April snickered, eyeing him skeptically. "I saw the boxes," she added, in response to his puzzled glance.

"He likes it like that," Alex retorted, his face reddening.

"I'm sure," April smirked. "Vegetables go great with hot chocolate," she added, motioning to the mess on the coffee table.

"He made it himself," Alex announced proudly.

"I'm just glad the vegetables aren't attacking the sea monsters," she said, eyeing the television again as she settled back into the couch. "I'd hate for him to develop a phobia about them."

"The sea monsters ate the vegetables in the first part," Alex retorted. "This is the sequel."

"Of course it is," she smirked, giggling despite herself.

It went on for twenty minutes, interviews with crack pot scientists, CGI film clips of what the monsters might actually look, if it were biologically possible for them to actually exist – which it wasn't – and she wondered how long it would take her, as she glanced over at Eric again, still purring contentedly, to un- teach him all of it, whatever Alex told him, about sea monsters in the creek out back and soccer on frigid fall evenings and Karate masters descended from Jedi and how you had to keep running even after icy, muddy water flooded your sneakers, as if it could possibly be worth it, the trophy or the ribbon or the award or whatever the hell else you might get, just for putting up with it.

"I'm applying for it," she noted finally, and it almost surprised even her, to hear it out loud, since it wasn't what she's planned when she first went back, and it wasn't anything like she'd described it to him, when she said she was going back full time, and it wasn't like she had any idea how they'd juggle it all, now that he was an acting Department Head, too, and it wasn't like she'd thought it out much further than that someone had to get the Emergency Department under control.

"Head of trauma," she filled in immediately, in response to his puzzled look, which reminded her that they hadn't actually talked about it, that they hadn't talked much about anything, since the attic had finally been finished, and Katie had moved in happily, and Eric had scooted over into the girls' old room, which now looked like a Lego Empire – partly overrun by dinosaur sea monster and ship models – and it made everyone happy except her, apparently, that Katie would get just what she wanted, again, and Abbey would be pushed aside, again, and it would be her and Dani or her and Beth all over again.

She didn't want to hear it, either, as he nodded, his face darkening, about how it would inconvenience him, somehow, or about how it would be hard on Eric, or about how it would make Katie into a full-fledged juvenile delinquent and Abbey into the forgotten daughter, or about how it would leave the house a wreck and nothing like Beth's Holiday Hosting Dream Show Place, or about how it would leave her more stressed than Dani and less focused than Jenny – and she'd never cure cancer now, like Cari – or about how her mother would never understand why she couldn't just keep working part-time.

It wasn't like she could do that, anyway, she grumbled to herself as she sank back into the couch, since it wasn't like it was cheap – Katie's special school and Abbey's special camp and Eric's sports gear – even if Karate was never going to happen, no matter what Alex said – and it wasn't like it wasn't all his fault anyway, that the stupid attic project had run over budget, and that he insisted on big Christmas gifts for mediocre grades, and that he didn't even see it at all, that driving around Seattle in a convertible with the top down in ten degree weather just to cart home Mrs. Dubois – Abbey's curvy, headless antique Victorian dress form – would certainly qualify as spoiling them.

* * *

><p>It annoyed the hell out of him over the next few months, April's snide comments about it being all about Katie with him, as if it hadn't helped put a lid on the girls' squabbling – finishing off the attic – as if Eric didn't have more space for his models and his block table in their old room, as if the girls hadn't needed some freaking space, as if it was his freaking fault that the Emergency Room was chaotic and the Board was squawking about her budget and Beth was having her flooring re-done, again.<p>

It wasn't Katie's fault, either, he grumbled, as he sat in the stands watching her soccer game on a chilly February afternoon, that she wasn't like Abbey, that it didn't all come easily to her, the reading and the history and the English, and that she wasn't the easiest kid in the world to get along with, and that she was energetic and intense and fierce and opinionated and competitive as hell, about everything.

It wasn't Abbey's doing, either, he reminded himself a few mornings later, as she poured syrup on his pancakes while chattering about her sewing club meeting, that she was sweet and kind and popular with everyone, that she didn't want to Edit the school newspaper – she just wanted to be the photographer, that she didn't want to run the sewing club, she just wanted to be the chick in charge of getting fabric, that it all came as easy as breathing to her – straight A's and awards and teacher's praise and invitations to parties – and that she just didn't care about it at all, sports or winning or whatever it was that drove Katie so hard, and drove everyone around Katie crazy.

It wasn't any of their faults, he muttered, as he drove into work a few days later, just like it wasn't Eric's fault that he was too small for football and too slow for soccer and too uncoordinated for baseball – but would be perfect for Karate if she'd just sign the freaking forms and stop treating him like he needed to be wrapped in bubble wrap or something – and big deal if he liked it just because he'd seen it on one of his cartoons, as if it mattered where he got the idea as long as it was something he could be good at.

It pissed him off the next few weeks, too, because it wasn't like he hadn't heard it all before, about how he wasn't smart enough or good enough or enough of whatever the hell it was they wanted him to be before they packed him off to the next foster family, and it wasn't like he was doing it to his own kids just because Katie didn't get straight A's, and Abbey didn't always have to be the center of attention and Eric liked a sport that didn't have teams and it wasn't going to kill them all, anyway, sledding down the hill out back, as if it wasn't what the only thing the freaking snow was any good for anyway, after you'd shoveled it.

It burned him the following month, too, because it was all about meetings with the Board and hiring delays and it wasn't like it was his fault – that some NICU kids got better in a week and others took a month, and it wasn't like it was his fault, that skilled nurses were expensive, and it wasn't like it was his fault, that surgeries couldn't always be scheduled precisely and that some kids just wouldn't make it no matter what they did, and that, sure, the hospital's standing could be improved if they stopped doing risky procedures but then where would kids like Jason be, kids who shouldn't possibly have survived their first few weeks – except that they did – even if their parents were already long gone.

It simmered in his brain as he rocked Jason that evening, and it was 1:00 a.m. before he knew it, and it was already too late to bother going home, anyway, and it wasn't like he was in any mood to hear it all again that night, that he was favoring Katie or ignoring Abbey or making a Karate kicking monster out of Eric, or that the bills from the attic were still coming in. He didn't want to hear it, either, about the Board's latest concerns – as if he went to Medical school in the first place just to be a scheduler or a budget runner or a bean counter – and he didn't want to hear about it from one April's social services "teams," either, that they were working on it – finding Jason a placement – as if he didn't have enough problems.

He didn't want to hear any of it, and it was all swirling around him, anyway, and it wasn't like he could do anything about it, anything except sit there and rock the infant and try to explain it to him straight, that it sucked to be dumped, and it sucked to be sick, and it sucked to be all alone, and it sucked when you couldn't do a damn thing about it, and it sucked that no matter what you did, they'd all tell you that it was all wrong, anyway, and that it was all you – the problem – since it wasn't like you'd ever be good enough for anything – and that it all sucked, but you had to keep fighting anyway, just to prove it to yourself, that they had it all wrong, and it was all that mattered, sometimes, since you'd either fight it and win, or it would all just run you right over, and it would knock the life right out of you.

It sucked, he muttered to himself, frowning and pulling the infant closer to him. But it was important that he learn it early, Alex whispered to him, and it was important that he keep fighting, because he was going into the fucking system, too, as soon as he was released, and it could seriously fuck you up if you didn't fight it at every turn, and it wasn't like he couldn't do it, since he was already a fighter, and it wasn't like he couldn't survive it, if he just keep fighting it as hard as he could, all of it.

* * *

><p>It would be a long summer, April had told herself back in May, with the girls still squabbling and Eric off to soccer and swim lessons and whatever else Alex had signed him up for him – since he was going to make his son into a trophy winning athlete no matter what, apparently – and it would have been, if she hadn't been working overtime to re-organize her department and streamline procedures and secure their standing as a Level One trauma center, and it was already July before she knew it.<p>

It was taking its toll, too, she noticed – Alex's job – since it had been all about meetings with Board members and presentations from job candidates and it shocked her the month before when he'd finally called an end to it, and taken the position himself. He'd hated it from the beginning, she knew, back when he was the interim Department Head of the NICU, and he'd hate it more now that he was over-seeing Peads temporarily, too, and it was more scheduling and more budgeting and more paper work and more late nights and it was making him jittery and distracted and more impossible than usual.

It was probably just as well, she grumbled the next morning, that he'd spent another night at the hospital, and she reminded herself that she hadn't even kept up on it lately – on whether there were any pretty new nurses up there – and it wouldn't have bothered her at all if she hadn't spotted it right on the kitchen counter beside a dirty milk glass, the letter that Abbey was apparently waiting to show him, about the High School of the Visual Arts application that she was apparently not filling out, not that April had heard anything about it, she pointed out, when she finally asked Abbey about it herself.

"We visited it," Abbey shrugged, stashing away some of the fruit salad she'd made for him, for when he came home later.

"Did you send in a portfolio?" April asked, scanning the sheet, with deadlines and instructions printed neatly under the school's letterhead.

"I don't want to go there," Abbey shrugged again, shaking her head as she poured some juice.

"It looks like an amazing program," April said, flipping through the brochure. "They have textile classes, fashion design, advanced painting and sculpting courses. They even have summer internships," she added, growing more excited. "You could do something productive."

"I like my summers," Abbey insisted, rolling her eyes.

April frowned, reviewing the brochure again. Abbey liked her summers, alright. She liked wandering around the yard taking photos, and painting pictures of her friends, and fiddling with her pottery wheel on the deck, and decking Mrs. DuBois out in the latest fashions that she saw in the magazines, and tried to copy in her own designs, and reading in the hammock, and going to the pool with her army of friends – since Alex spoiled her, and it wasn't like she needed to work for anything.

"Eric's going to science camp next summer," April reminded her with a sigh, "and Katie's learning advanced sailing and scuba techniques," she added, since Katie still got mediocre grades, but at least she was doing something productive with her summer, even if her school's summer program ran over two months, and even if it was expensive, sailing, and even if it was dangerous, scuba diving, and even if it meant she was gone most of the summer, not that that mattered, April reminded herself sourly, since it wasn't like she still lived with them, exactly, thanks to Alex's brilliant attic idea.

"That's nice," Abbey shrugged, picking up her camera and reviewing some of the shots she'd taken that morning. "I'm adding these flowers to my layout designs for the yearbook," she said, studying them more closely. "Aunt Beth really liked them."

Of course she did, April muttered under her breath. "Did you tell her about this?" she asked, holding the application papers up, again, since she might be the only one who didn't know about it.

"No," Abbey said absently, as if it wasn't even an issue, as if it didn't need to be discussed, apparently, since she wasn't doing it, as if that settled it all, as if she hadn't even considered what a great thing it might be, for her to go to a special school, and to get a head start on it, on being a great photographer like Beth, or being a great fashion designer, or being… whatever it was she wanted to be… since she was smart and popular and won all the awards and had it all going for her, if she'd just use it.

"You're not even going to try for it?" April asked incredulously. It made no sense, because it was finally something she could do, to set herself apart from Katie, and it was something she could do, that would make her the sister that got noticed, and it would set her up as the sister who got it for a change – the fancy school and the special treatment – and it wouldn't be like the attic, or like Katie's sailing classes – and it would be a lot of money, sure, another special school, but it would be just what she needed, April was sure, so that she wouldn't do it, just fade into the background, playing second fiddle to Katie her whole life, and resenting it in more ways than she could count.

"I like Jefferson High," Abbey frowned, as if it was all perfectly obvious. "I like my friends. I like my clubs."

"But they could really push you," April pointed out, lifting the brochure again. "You'd be surrounded by talented people. You'd have great teachers."

"I like my teachers," Abbey reminded her, shaking her head. "And I hate the kids at Katie's school," she reminded her, with a grimace. "They're all so competitive. Who cares if you get two points less than someone else on a chemistry test? "

"This isn't a science oriented program," April reminded her, spreading the description out across the counter. "It's everything you like," she added hopefully, since really, science had never been Abbey's thing, and it probably wouldn't have been even if Alex hadn't corrupted her as a young child, with the sea monsters and the mutant snakeheads and the space aliens and the mutant vegetables and the animal crackers at 3:00 a.m., as if that could ever do a child any good.

"I already have everything I like," Abbey reminded her, springing up abruptly from her chair and waving her camera happily. "I'm going over to Emily's," she called, already half way out of the kitchen. "We're going to take some pictures of her mother's garden."

"What about this?" April insisted, waving the papers more insistently.

"Recycle them," Abbey shrugged.

It figured, April muttered to herself, stashing the papers carefully – since that wasn't the end of it – since it was all about recycling – with Katie – and it would be all about Katie if she just let it go, and just let Abbey fade into the woodwork, and it figured, she grumbled again, that Alex was at the hospital when he should have been pressing Abbey on it, too, and it figured, she sighed, that her own garden just wasn't measuring up that year, since it had been neglected, too, ever since she'd gotten it, the official title deeming her the go to chick in trauma, as if she'd planned it all along.

* * *

><p>"She didn't like," he shrugged, when she asked him about it later that afternoon. And he didn't get it, the glare April shot at him as he fished out the fruit salad – as if she hadn't nagged him for years to eat more healthy – and it wasn't like it made any sense, whatever she was babbling – about Dani and Beth and the attic and sisters and bills and it annoyed the hell out of him, but he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't just go and ask Abbey about it again, as if she hadn't already made up her mind.<p>

She was at it again when he got up to her room – wrapping Mrs. DuBois in some kind of flowery fabric, and it shimmered as the early evening sun filtered into the room, and it lit up Abbey's hair and her smile just like it always did when she said "Hi, Dad," and it had gone to that from daddy somewhere between animal crackers at 3:00 a.m. and the early morning breakfasts she made him when their schedules met, and it just kind of flowed between them like it had always been there, whatever it was that made her his daughter, even if it wasn't what the fucking system would ever say, officially.

"How does she look?" Abbey asked, stepping back and studying the dress form seriously.

"Headless," Alex replied, nodding seriously.

"Besides that," Abbey groaned, rolling her eyes at him.

"She's hot, I guess," he agreed, nodding and eying her more closely, "If you're into headless and all."

"I meant the dress," Abbey corrected him.

"Good," he said finally, exhaling awkwardly. "It looks good." It probably did, he reminded himself, since he didn't lie to them, but it wasn't like he knew anything about dresses, except whether whoever filled them out was hot, and then it wasn't the dress, it was them, and it wasn't like it was easy to get past, the whole headless thing. But to be fair, Mrs. DuBois was hot… in a headless, wood and wire kind of way, and Abbey was good at all the chick stuff, breakfasts and baking and painting and sewing and all that artsy stuff, and he didn't get any of it, really, but he got that she was good at it, and that she liked it.

"I don't want to go," she added a moment later, unwinding the fabric and grabbing her measuring tape.

"I know," he replied, fiddling with his fingers as she worked.

"Is mom disappointed?" she asked, running her fingers over the edge of a seam.

"Mom's crazy," he muttered, and it popped out before he could stop it, and it had her giggling before he could take it back, and it wasn't like it was some big secret among the kids anyway, since she was always nagging at them, too, about alphabetized soup cans and high-lighted chore wheels and hand sanitizer and safe sledding and homework organizers and even budgeting their allowances, as if it was such a big deal if he slipped them some extra money during the summer, so they could enjoy it.

"That's what Aunt Beth says," Abbey laughed, and at least he managed to stop it, this time, adding that Aunt Beth was crazy, too.

"Did she send you up here to make me do it?" Abbey asked, frowning at him.

"No," he snickered, shaking his head. Not that he was sure why'd she'd sent him up there, exactly, but if it was that, well, it hadn't been mentioned to him, and it wasn't like he'd do it, anyway.

"I tried to explain it to her," Abbey insisted, scowling and wrapping the fabric around Mrs. Dubois again. "You get it, right?" she asked seriously.

Alex shrugged, wandering over to the window and glancing outside, where Eric and his friends were wreaking havoc in the creek, armed with Super Soakers and nets and, for reasons he couldn't fathom, a plastic blow up flamingo pool toy, and an empty watermelon shell.

"I want to enjoy high school," she said quietly. "I don't want to fight with my friends over grades. I don't want to fight for a spot on the Newspaper. I don't want to compete to be the photographer. I don't want to be like Katie," she blurted. "I mean," she added sheepishly, "I don't want everything to be about winning and keeping score, you know?"

He didn't get it, really, the whole craft thing, and he didn't get sewing and he didn't get painting, but he got it that she wasn't like Katie, he'd always gotten it, and it was nothing he'd ever have her apologizing for, and he'd never get it – the whole not wanting to compete thing – but it was who she was, and it wasn't like there was a damn thing wrong with that, and it wasn't like she was supposed to be anyone else than who she was, and it wasn't like he'd have wanted that, anyway.

"We don't want you to be like Katie," he reminded her. "We just want you to be happy," he added, shuffling his feet and shrugging and looking out the window again.

"I am," she said, absently, almost lost in her project again.

"Do you like it?" he asked abruptly, looking around the room, again, because it hadn't changed much over the years, not since they'd painted it together years before, and lined it with more shelves for her projects, and put in the sewing table, and the antique writing desk from the attic. It still had all his old stuff in it, too, he noticed, and she might want to change it, since she was getting older, too.

"I'm not moving it" she insisted, shaking her head fiercely. "And I love my window seat," she asserted firmly.

"Mom thought you might be jealous, you know, of Katie," he said.

"Katie can have that cramped attic," Abbey snorted. "This is the biggest bedroom in the house," she reminded him proudly. "And I have the best view," she noted, pointing towards the huge windows as if it was obvious. "My friends all love it up here," she added, wrapping the fabric around the dress form again. "I think they're all jealous," she giggled.

"I thought you didn't want to compete with them?" he smirked, walking back over toward her.

"Square footage is different," she said seriously, shaking her head, and it reminded him all over again that he'd never get it, chick logic, not really.

"Besides," she giggled again, "Mrs. DuBois loves the view."

"Funny," he grumbled, rolling his eyes, and watching, because it was there all over again, the quirky sense of humor and the sun streaming through her hair and way her fingers worked as she fiddled with the fabric – almost like a surgeon's – and the easy laughter and it was all her – the flowery wall paper and the antique everything and the treasures pack ratted in every corner and the window seat piled with books and the photos spread over her desk and the way she beamed back at him, sure that he got it, too, the bad jokes and the room she loved and why she didn't want to go to the fancy art school, even if she could be the best in her class no matter where she went, when you got right down to it.

"Admit it," she teased. "You're just jealous you didn't say it first."

"I am not," he smirked, as he walked toward the door, and it was there all over again, too, the fluttery feeling that rippled through him in the mornings as she chattered and giggled and poured syrup on his pancakes and teased him about crooked neck ties and sea monsters and NASA's latest findings on the satellite probes of Mars, as if it didn't matter to her either, really, what the official forms said.

* * *

><p>It had started even before the summer, April remembered with a frustrated sigh, and it was inevitable. She got it, too, and she'd seen it even with her own sisters, the moody, hormonal teenage girl thing, and it wasn't like Katie hadn't been something else even before that. It had kicked in with a vengeance that spring, though, and it had escalated from the "you can't tell me what to do" phase, to the "you're not my parents," variant, which in her case was technically true, and it was enough to make April understand why some species of animals ate their young, and to wonder – sometimes – what stopped the others.<p>

It set her teeth chattering, and it jangled her nerves, and it made her look forward to the school bus, and it left her relieved – not that she'd ever admit it – when Katie retreated into the attic – and it made her roll her eyes less when Abbey breathed a sigh of relief at Katie's absence – since she'd seen that before, too, with, Dani and Beth, and she got it – and it made her breathe easier herself when Katie had first come home with it, the flyer about the ten weeks at sea summer program that would teach her to sail and dive and all about marine ecosystems research and really, that would help keep the peace.

It had made April vaguely nauseous, signing the forms back in March. It wasn't the happy home she envisioned, and it wasn't the loving sisters she'd hoped Katie and Abbey would always be, and it was almost like admitting it, that she was at the end of her nautical rope, and that she just needed a break from it, too, the squabbling and the sniping and the general unpleasantness, and it was like accepting that maybe her mother had been right, that maybe the girls would've gotten along better if she hadn't gone back to work full time, and that maybe her house would be neater and her pantry more organized and her garden more lush and her children more happy if she'd just done it differently, all of it.

She didn't want to hear it, either, about what might happen, about how Katie might get eaten by a shark, and Abbey might end up even more spoiled, and Eric might drown in his swimming classes – or in the creek, while Winston watched placidly, hoping he'd drop a snack before he expired – all while she reorganized the Emergency Department and re-prioritized the budget and reviewed standard trauma procedures, while her own pantry wallowed in un-alphabetized chaos.

It had all gnawed at her anyway, straight through early May, and it came like clockwork, the yearly update from Social Services, announcing that no inquiries had been made, again, that the girls' mother hadn't even followed up about them, and that their father – who'd never even signed the documents releasing them for adoption – was nowhere to be found, and that it was just like it always was, and it was all fine, as far as the state agency was concerned.

She'd grown to hate it as much as Alex did, though, the word fine, at least when it applied to the system, since it wasn't fine at all. She wasn't even sure what that meant, though, since it was great, really, that the girls' mother had never contested their adoption, and it was great, really, that their father wasn't interested at all, and it was fine – it was- she'd tried to convince herself for years, that there were empty spaces on the official forms, where signatures should be, signatures that would make it all final and official for real, signatures that haunted her just because they were missing.

It wasn't like they were coming back, she reminded herself forcefully, as she stashed the letter in her top drawer with the others. It wasn't like it meant anything, either, she insisted, as she ran her finger over the original documents from years before, where Abbey had proudly scrawled the name Karev in flowing little girl script, while Katie had defiantly printed Jensen in dark black bolded block letterers.

She'd just been angry, April reminded herself, about it all, and that was probably still it, even if it was hard to untangle normal teenaged fury from what it must have been like, to be left behind. She got it, too, April reminded herself, or at least she tried to get it, whatever it was that Katie brooded about up in that attic, whatever it was that drove her to fight everyone and everything that tried to guide her– even when it was just meant to help her – whatever it was that made her so damned impossibly her.

It wasn't turning out to be anything like she'd imagined it would be that day, either. She'd imagined it would all be different, that the girls would be nothing like her and her sisters were, and that it would be easier for them, since it was just the two of them for so long. It was always supposed to be like how it looked back then, two little girls playing happily on the swings together, and it wasn't turning out like that at all, and she didn't see how to stop it, since they had different friends and different interests and different personalities, and it just seemed like they were going in completely different directions.

It wasn't like she compared them either, she insisted fiercely to herself – no matter what Alex said – it was just that Katie wasn't trying hard enough to do her best in school, and Abbey was content to play second fiddle, and Alex barely seemed to even notice it, that it would affect their whole lives, something he'd notice, she grumbled, if he'd paid more attention to it himself, before Amber disappeared, as if that shouldn't have made it perfectly obvious to him, that it couldn't just be taken for granted.

It had all driven her to distraction, by the time school let out, and it had been sad – it had – to see Katie off, and it scared her that she wasn't exactly looking forward to it, Katie's return. It had flown by, she noted, as she wandered out into that yard that late summer evening, where Abbey and her two best friends from down the street were laughing around the pottery wheel, and Alex and Eric and Winston were tracking through the creek, hunting for inflatable pink flamingos, as far as she could tell.

She didn't want to know about it, though, she thought with a sigh, what they were doing with the watermelon rinds and the Super Soakers – and she wouldn't even mention it, that Corgis weren't bred to hunt pool toys, and she didn't want to know about it, whatever the girls were laughing about–since apparently it was enough to keep Abbey from wanting to apply to that special school for the arts, where she really could've accomplished something – and she didn't want to hear it, about Karate forms or extra spending money or how Winston had apparently gone to the grocery store and bought his own cheese doodles, since they still wouldn't admit to it, any of them, giving them to him along with his diet dog food – and it was a relief, finally, when she sank into the hammock, and the cicadas drowned it all out.

* * *

><p>It was the worst batch of interns the hospital had ever had. At least, that's what he told Bailey, and it was the truth, even if she just rolled her eyes and snorted at him, and walked off laughing hysterically. It wasn't his fault, either, except that it was, apparently – since it was lawyers and depositions and hushed meetings with the review board, too, when the idiots damn near killed a six year old in Peads.<p>

It had only taken a freaking week, too, which must have been some kind of record, and it was only late August before he'd had it with all of them, and it was barely into September when the next round of Board meetings and budget cuts came, and it wasn't even the end of month before two experienced nurses had moved on to other hospitals, and it was more paperwork and more scheduling and it still wasn't what he went to medical school for and it wasn't nearly enough actual cutting and it wasn't what he'd worked so hard for – to get double board certified in neonatal and peads – just so he could watch other people do the cool surgeries while he filed paperwork and signed forms like a freaking secretary.

It wasn't like he had a second to deal with it, anyway, the idiot interns, since it was always something else, and it all had to be copied in duplicate and it all had to be approved by someone who knew nothing about actual surgery and it was making his stomach churn and his eyes blur and it was all keeping him awake nights, all racing through his head, and it was tossing and turning and it was splitting headaches and it was a battle just to catch his breath some afternoons, and it was a chore not to lose it entirely when one more bean counter asked him if it was really necessary, the extra staffing for the preemies or the night nurses for the NICU, as if a sick and terrified and alone two day old child didn't fucking need it.

It wouldn't have been worth it at all, he grumbled to himself, except that it was a promotion and it was the next step on the career path and it came with the perks to prove it, an actual office and a lot more money and it wasn't like they couldn't use it and it wasn't like the hospital had had much luck with it, anyway, hiring Attendings that actually wanted to do it, since it wasn't like any sane surgeon would and it just made him rub his hands over his face and blink heavily again as it all teetered on the edge of his desk, piles of precariously balanced papers, and it was the last think he saw most nights before he left, unless he stopped just to peek in on it, the NICU, just to see how it was all running.

It was making his head spin, too, by early October, and it was all blurring together, the late summer weeds he still hadn't taken care of and the early fall leaves he hadn't had time to rake up, either, and it had all been a blur, Katie's new uniforms and Abbey's new classes and Eric's new teacher, and it was all on the spreadsheet April had plastered on the fridge – of course it was – schedules and phone numbers and contact information, and it all just went into his jumbled Blackberry, too, soccer matches and swim meets and debates and art shows and parents' open house nights and it wasn't his freaking fault if he didn't have time for everything, since apparently it was still his fault that the idiot interns were trying to kill people.

It was his fault, too, apparently, that there were never enough nurses on the floor, and it was still his fault that Abbey and Katie were squabbling again – apparently, because he and Amber hadn't spoken in years, as if that had anything done to do with it – and it was his fault, apparently, that a bag of expensive diet organic dog food in the pantry had gone stale – as if it was his fault that Winston just plain didn't like it – and it was his fault, apparently, that Eric wanted to dress up as a Ninja for Halloween, as if it was his doing that the kid wanted to learn karate, if she'd just sign the freaking forms.

It was all his fault all through November, too. It carried over from the month before, apparently, since he hadn't gotten all the witches and the spiders hung properly, and it spilled over through Eric's birthday party, since it was apparently "spoiling" him, again – the go cart with the working headlights and the folding trunk – and it poured into Thanksgiving, too, since it was apparently his fault that April's parents were staying with Beth, again, and that Cari was thinking of moving to Seattle, too, and that she might even spend some time living at Beth's, since her home was a spotless mansion and all.

It was all his fault, everything going on at the hospital, and it was his fault that Katie was being… Katie, again, since apparently he spoiled her, too, and it was all his fault that Katie and April were warring over what to wear and what to eat and how to behave and what grades were required if she wanted Santa to bring her anything like the new skis she was lobbying for – as if even Eric wasn't too old for it, the whole Santa Claus thing – and it just flared at the breakfast table every morning, over every B- that should have been an A, and every disrespectful facial expression and every uniform shirt that wasn't perfectly neat.

It raged that morning too, and he just shrugged and gulped some coffee as he rushed out of the house and it wasn't like he even had time for Abbey's pancakes , even if he'd been hungry, which he wasn't, since his stomach was churning and boiling, and it wasn't like he could be late for the next meeting with the Board, and it wasn't like traffic wasn't already backed up, along with the surgical schedule he'd hear about, again, and it wasn't like it wasn't already one of those days, even if it had barely started.

* * *

><p>It came at 11:34 that morning, the call that Alex had been taken into surgery, and that it had already burst, his appendix, and that it would be a few hours – as if she didn't know all that – and it all rushed through her mind as she called Beth to take care of the kids after school, and it raced in her chest, her heart beat, as the minutes ticked past, and it was all a blur, how she ended up in his room hours later, hunched on a hard plastic chair with her fingers knotted through his as she waited for him to wake up.<p>

It would be a while, they assured her – as if she wasn't a surgeon herself, as if medical emergencies weren't her specialty – and it figured, that he'd ignored all the signs, and it figured, that he'd tried to push through it, until it actually caved in entirely, and it figured that it couldn't be a simple procedure because he'd let it go, and it figured that it could've been a complete catastrophe, if it had happened while he was in traffic, or operating himself, and she was already waiting for it, for him to mutter that it was nothing, the moment he opened his eyes, even if it hurt like hell, and had damn near killed him.

It wasn't like that, though, hour after hour, since it didn't seem to wear off, the anesthesia, and it was a rising temperature and an infection instead, and it was rattled, shallow breathing and pale, clammy skin and it was racking her brain – what to have Beth tell the kids – and it was a night that dragged on into a hazy morning and it was beeping monitors and whispering nurses when she woke with a jolt and it was like she wasn't even there as they worked to bring his temperature down and it was another twenty four hours before she remembered breathing again herself and it was a frantic call from Abbey before she could finally assure them that it was under control, and that he would be alright.

It was another few hours before he woke, and he could barely breathe without wincing, and it was another day before she'd allow a brief visit from the girls, and it figured that Katie was jittery and impatient and anxious to leave, and finally just waited outside, and it figured that Abbey just pulled up a chair after he'd dozed off again, and slipped her fingers around his, and just whispered it again and again, "It's okay, dad," and it figured that she'd say that, April knew, since it was sort of their code, for another three little words that still made him awkward and fumbly, and it figured that Abbey had realized that long ago, April imagined, since she was born to be a Karev even if she hadn't started out as one.

It was another few days before the infection was under control, and it figured that Cari had arrived already, in time for the rapidly approaching holidays, and it figured that it would be the busy season in the Emergency Room, and that it would be another Christmas extravaganza hosted at Beth's mansion, and that it would be another holiday without stockings hung above her own fire place, and that it had already started, his insistence that it was nothing, the infection that still simmered in his body and the incision that was still stitched loosely together and the struggle he had just to walk across the room.

It figured, she grumbled a week later, too, that he'd just hole up in the basement with his couch and his monster movies. It was probably just as well, anyway, she imagined, since it wasn't like he could do the stairs very well, yet, and it wasn't like Abbey wouldn't happily make him all the pancakes he wanted, and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't share his Legos, and it wasn't like it wasn't just as well, if Katie stayed up in the attic for the most part, since really it was more peaceful that way, and the last thing the house needed at the moment was more stress, now that she had returned to work and the holidays loomed and it was all up to her, apparently, to spoil the kids this year, since Santa couldn't do it.

They'd have to just skip it, too, the over -sized candy canes, and it wasn't like she'd have time to bake cookies with Abbey this year, either, not that Abbey needed her help, she reminded herself, since she was already a great cook, and had been for years, and she didn't even want to think about it – how surly Katie would be about the expensive new skis that she wasn't getting, since B- grades had always been pushing it, and the latest C+ just made it out of the question, and she just smiled and nodded as she listened to it on the phone, Beth and Cari's plans for the Best Christmas Ever.

At least she could put it aside at work, she reminded herself, and she did it that evening as her shift ran over, and it was already near midnight before she got home and she showered quickly and tried not to jostle the bed too much as she crawled in beside him and it took her ten minutes to slow her breathing and another ten to notice the pale moonlight filtering into the room, though the snow was still flurrying.

It was probably just as well, she imagined, since at least he wouldn't be taking them off to go sledding this time, and it was light enough, she realized, to check his incision again without waking him, and it made her wince all over again when she peeled the thin sweatpants from his hips, and it almost made her smirk despite it all, his soft groan as she traced her finger delicately along it, following it from the curve of his hip down along his groin, and she listened closely as she tried to place it.

She'd catalogued them over the years, his various sound effects, and it wasn't a bad groan, not like when he'd hit the ice on their honeymoon, or driven the nail into his finger when he was building Abbey's window seat, and it wasn't an awful groan, not like the one she'd prompted when she was still figuring it all out - the time she'd squeezed it a little too tight, she remembered with another wince – but it wasn't a good groan either, like from when she'd finally gotten it just right, except that it might have been closer to that, since it was already stirring against her, and his eyes were fluttering open.

It wasn't like it mattered, anyway, since the post-op instructions were perfectly clear, about having to wait six weeks to do it again. It wasn't like he could do it even if he wanted to, she reminded herself, since it still made him wince when he moved around much, and it was still exhausting him, the infection he had to fight off and the waiting for the incision to heal, and it would ache worse as the scar formed, she noted almost clinically, delicately tracing her finger over it again, and it might even be ticklish for a while, she thought, at least, until it loosened up again, the pink lined flesh along the surgical site.

"It's making me sick," he muttered, half into his pillow, and it startled her that he was even awake, and she almost pulled her hands away abruptly, except that it had become almost hypnotic, the slow rhythm of his breathing beneath her fingers as she stroked his silky skin, and it was almost lulling her to sleep, the familiar warmth of his body beside her.

"The incision?" she asked quickly, straightening up abruptly and trying to clear her head and focus her eyes as she peered more closely at it.

"The job," he mumbled, his voice distant and deflated.

It shocked her, his tone, and it startled her again, his words, and she wondered if maybe it was the pain meds or the exhaustion or the infection or the fever roaring back, and she just couldn't help it, as she examined him quickly for more signs of illness or injury, and she just didn't get it, when he just smirked sleepily at her, and she could've told it to him months before – that he was over-working, that it wasn't the job for him, that he was always going to hate it, that it just wasn't worth it, that they didn't need the money – even if he did insist on it, spoiling the kids – and that it would've been better all around, if he'd just quit it months before, and gone back to doing all the cool surgeries he's always wanted – even if she'd still never buy it, that that's why he was in Peads in the first place.

She could have told him all of that, but it would've been a battle of wills than, and it would've been a war to see who could say it first – "I told you so" – and it would've been years of stubborn, self-inflicted misery just so that he could prove it, that he was great at it, even if he hated it, and it had all been perfectly obvious right from the start, but it caught her off guard just then, and it was her own fault for stirring it all up, even if it was just wedged placidly against her, dozing peacefully.

"You could just stop it, you know," she said finally, tracing her fingers gently along it again and again, and she didn't say quit, because that would just make it worse, and she didn't say quit, because that would just make him fight harder to keep what he didn't even want, and she didn't say it at all, that he should just do it, and go back to where he was, because then it might be her idea, and then it would be wrong, and then it would be another medical emergency as he tried to prove it, that he'd been right all along, and it would be the Great Ass Fracture debate all over again, and it was the last thing she wanted, more medical mayhem just because he was too proud to admit it, that he just couldn't do it anymore.

"It's a lot of money to give up," he muttered, finally, and it was, she admitted, and he didn't add it, that it was a lot of ego, too, a lot more than wiping out on the kiddie ski slope, even.

"We don't need it," she reminded him quietly, and they didn't, and she got it – she did – that he'd grown up stealing food, and he'd been basically homeless, and it wasn't happening to his family, not this time. It wouldn't, though, and it wasn't like they'd ever be poor, even if he'd always feel like it, and it wasn't like the kids would inherit it, that fear, since as far as they knew it was perfectly normal never to have to worry about it – if there'd be food in the pantry – even if it wasn't always healthy, or in alphabetical order.

"It's a big step down," he mumbled, and it was, she knew, since it was another way of keeping score – promotions – and it was like he was volunteering not to take first place, and it was like he was giving up on a wrestling match, or being pinned before he'd been beaten into an actual bloody pulp, and it was like he was giving back a trophy he'd won, and it wasn't computing with him at all – she was sure – and it might even be causing his infection, she thought wryly, his whole body rebelling against the idea of surrendering, even if it might go a long way toward actually keeping him alive.

"It's more cool surgeries," she reminded him, almost smirking, and it was manipulation plain and simple, and it was definitely a good groan that followed, as her fingers trailed over his body again, and it was an even more familiar moan that followed, because it wasn't like he couldn't feel it as it pulsed lazily in her hands, even if they couldn't actually do it yet, or at least, not without her doing all the work.

"That's cheating," he murmured, groaning again as her fingers sank deeper into his groin, and it was, she giggled, as it rippled right through him, and it was definitely a good groan, since she'd gotten the hang of it long ago, and it was definitely persuasive, since it was defenseless in her grasp, and it was definitely slower than usual, since it was post-op, and it was just what he needed, medically speaking, and it could have been by prescription, since it was technically an analgesic, and he was snoring softly afterwards.

It was definitely cheating, she admitted with a smirk as she tugged him closer, and it was definitely needed, she added – him dumping that job, since it was definitely making him sick, she agreed, as she out lined the incision lightly with her finger again, even if it probably would've blown regardless, his appendix, at least, medically speaking.

It was definitely going to be ticklish as it healed, too, she imagined, giggling at his groggy smile as she fingered it again, and it was all feeling like it used to, the warm rippling of his body, and she'd missed it over the past few weeks, and it occurred to her as the moonlight poured over them that she'd just never get it, why it was easier for him to drift off with it quivering lazily in her hands or wedged sleepily against her, than to just admit it, that it wasn't the job for him, even if it was supposed to be.


	15. Chapter 15

It was nearly 10:30 when he woke the next morning, groggy and tingling, and it was a thick green puffy comforter wrapped around him, and Sadie curled beside him purring, and Winston peeking up over the side of the bed, waiting for his cheese doodles. It was impossibly quiet in the house, and it was twenty minutes before he was finally showered and dressed, and another twenty minutes before he made it down to the basement, and another ten before he dozed off again before even hearing the basketball scores.

It was only a half day, though, the last school day before the holidays, and it was scarcely another hour before they all tumbled into the house, and it was a bleary and blurry haze when he realized it, that it was only a few days before Christmas and they still didn't have a tree, and it wasn't like it freaking even mattered, except that it did to April, and it wasn't like it wasn't already last minute, and it took him twenty minutes just to find his car keys.

It was only a fifteen minute drive to the tree place, and it was slow and steady with Abbey keeping a close eye on him as she frowned, insisting that it wasn't a good idea for him to drive so soon, especially since he didn't look all that up to it, and the kids just popped out of the car when they finally arrived and told him they'd get it, and he just nodded tiredly and forked over his wallet, and it occurred to him just then that it'd have to fit in with the kids in the already full convertible.

He just half listened to it, as the guy wrapped it tightly in twine and netting and loaded it into the back, seat, and it was cool, apparently, at least to a seven year old boy, to ride home with the top down and a tree sticking out of the car while big fluffy snowflakes flurried around them– even if Eric was squished underneath it, and Katie just disappeared completely behind the mass of pine needles, and at least it had stopped snowing heavily, even if it was twenty degrees – and he had no idea how he'd get it into the house, though it was out of the car and halfway to the porch before he'd gotten out of it himself.

It raced ahead of him with the kids, dragged bouncing wildly into the house and down the basement stairs, and he just staggered after it, and he just nodded weakly as they chattered about setting it up before mom got home, and it was back to the couch as boxes of decorations opened, and he didn't want to think about it – the trail of green pine needles they'd carted through the house – and it just settled over him, a fluffy plaid blanket as he heard it from one side, a familiar voice whispering "It's okay, dad. We've got it," before it all sank into a warm dark haze again.

It was basically decorated by the time his eyes fluttered open again, and it was a garish mix of colors – and it was nothing like the neatly ordered rows of ornaments April hung each year – and it continued in the background, the excited chatter over whether it should be the angel or the star or the bell this year – the topper on the tree, and Abbey was already taking pictures of it, documenting it every step of the way, as she always did with family holidays, and it was already roaring in the background, the fireplace, and he could see it already, the setting sun casting golden orange shadows across the room.

It was perfect, Eric announced, when he noticed Alex was awake, and raced over to greet him; it was really pretty, Abbey added, already reviewing her photos before printing them out; it was a tree, Katie shrugged, though they'd already watered it, she assured him. Santa would love it, too, Abbey piped up suddenly, motioning to Katie to agree with her, since it was part of the conspiracy to see to it, that Eric believed in it all for another year, not that Alex bought any of it, since Eric was a born skeptic, and didn't even believe in Sea Monsters in the creek, never mind flying reindeer and fat guys in red suits.

Eric got it too, though, apparently, and it made Alex wonder if the conspiracy wasn't more for April's benefit – not that it would hurt Eric's gift haul any, if he continued to believe it, and plant his wish list with April accordingly. But it was all just easier to go along with it, and he was still too tired to question it, and it was all around him a moment later, the smell of Abbey's sugar cookies, and she placed it right beside him on the coffee table, the steaming plate along with his favorite milk glass.

It was more chattering and laughing and giggling and picture taking after that, and it was Eric trying to draw faces on the freshly baked cookies, and Abbey poking seriously at the ones that were supposed to look like Mrs. DuBois, apparently, but who could seriously use Sloan's help, and it was Katie checking the weather forecast and hoping for more snow, and it was another hour flying by before Abbey mentioned it, that mom had called while he'd been asleep, to say that she'd be late again.

"I told her I'd make dinner, dad," Abbey volunteered, her eyes twinkling as it rang out in unison, the kids' voices shouting "Pizza!" and he just nodded for her to order it, since it wasn't like it was a school night, and it wasn't like the kids hadn't worked hard on decorating the tree, and it wasn't like they couldn't throw a few vegetables on it, and it wasn't like tomatoes weren't vegetables, too, even if it was debated by reputable science experts, whether they'd even originated on earth, when you got right down to it.

It was another two hours after that, of hot stringy cheese dribbled onto their paper plates, and spilled milk wiped sloppily from the coffee table, and cookie mix boxes and baking sheets and plastic cups hastily stashed away, back in the pantry, and of another re-run of Jurassic Park, which revived the inevitable debates about where the dinosaurs had come from, originally, and whether they could be recreated, and if some still survived in the oceans, or the creek in their back yard, and why the Lego Atlantis Expedition set on the commercial only included one small octopus.

It was another hour after that, of Eric happily building a sky scraper for his city – which was apparently undergoing urban sprawl – and Katie retreating to her attic lair, to check up on her text messages, and Abbey happily printing out and sorting her photos, before rushing upstairs, she insisted, to show them to Mrs. DuBois, and it was a few moments after that before Eric was in his bath and then off to bed and it was back down to the basement, where Alex still hadn't gotten to see all the basketball scores.

He'd hear about it, he was sure, the pine needles everywhere, and the pizza boxes in the recycling bin, and the milk stains on the coffee table, and he didn't even want to think about it – the sopping wet towels from Eric's water war with his submarines, or what the pantry probably looked like. It was the best he could do, he muttered to himself as his eye lids grew heavy again, since it wasn't like he could take them sledding, and it wasn't like he could hang the freaking jumbo candy canes, and it wasn't like he could even drag down to the mall, not when it was still work just to stay awake.

* * *

><p>It was nearly 11:30 p.m. when she pulled into the driveway, and it was still lights on up in the attic, but she didn't want to fight about it, especially since it wasn't a school night, and it figured, the pizza boxes in the trash, and it puzzled her immediately, the pine needles trailing through the kitchen and down the hallway, but the house was quiet – the first quiet she'd had in almost fourteen hours – and she didn't even want to think about it, any of it, until she'd at least hung up her coat.<p>

It was too late for tea, even if it was negative ten degrees outside – at least, that's what it felt like – so it was a hot shower immediately, and after that her heaviest robe, not the short, slinky blue green silk one Alex had given her, which screamed "let's do it," but the fluffy yellow one which shouted "it's freaking cold," and it was another baffled glance at their bed and another trip downstairs, following the mysterious pine needle trail, and she saw it immediately – the over-decorated tree blinking slowly in the corner - and it looked like her neatly packed boxes of decorations had exploded onto it, or out of it, or around it.

It was all there, though, she noticed as she went over to it – the family history she'd documented so carefully through the glittery figures – Abbey's Ballerina Barbie ornament, Katie's SpongeBob, Eric's toy Tonka trunk, the first one anyone had ever given her for him, from Beth, of course – and it was all there, Abbey's miniature camera and Katie's little soccer player and Eric's Lego Santa – and she sighed as it occurred to her that this might be the last year he believed in it all – the flying reindeer and the sleigh and leaving cookies out for Santa Clause – and that she'd wanted to make it special.

It was a little late for that, though, she imagined, since she was working the next day, too, and Beth was hosting Christmas dinner again this year, and she still didn't have stockings lining the fire place, and it wasn't like they'd have anything to remember this Christmas by, except maybe that it was the year Santa had had his operation, and spent the week sprawled on the monster couch in the basement, snoring quietly with Sadie curled beside him, as the basketball scores cycled on the television flickering in the background.

At least it wasn't radioactive sea monsters, she smirked, crawling onto the couch beside him, and she could just imagine it – the story of how they got that tree home in his car – and she probably didn't even want to know, she reminded herself, gently untying his faded sweatpants, and it was healing nicely, she noted, studying it closely, and it was warm and smooth and supple, not red or fevered or blistering, the soft flesh along the incision site, and it was another quiet moan as he stretched lazily, his eyes fluttering open again, and it was another familiar smirk as her fingers trailed over it and she kissed him gently.

"It's beautiful," she said quietly, sliding her arms around him.

"Really?" he said smugly, wiggling his eyebrows groggily at her.

"The tree," she corrected immediately, rolling her eyes at him as she slid her hands up higher, right beneath his ribs.

"Oh," he sighed, frowning. "The kids decorated it," he added, glancing over at it again.

"It looks like Mrs. DuBois helped them," April said, eyeing it more closely herself. "How'd you get it home, anyway?"

"It wasn't too bad," he insisted, shaking his head.

"Top down? In this weather?" she smirked. "When are you going to admit it? That car is so impractical."

"When are you going to admit you like shag carpet?' he teased tiredly, pulling her closer.

"Never," she said bluntly, burrowing into his chest.

"Liar," he murmured, nuzzling her hair. "So how was it?" he added a moment later.

"Three saves," she said softly, and it was one of those days when it was good to be married to another surgeon, since he'd get it, that counting the number of saves meant you'd lost one, too, and that it was just how it was this time of year – that some mother left the house that morning planning a Christmas meal or an ice skating trip, and went home planning a funeral – and that there was not a thing you could say about it, and that it was just better all around, that he knew better than to ask more about it.

He just tugged her tighter, instead, like he did in the on-call rooms sometimes – where they still had never actually done it – when it was one of those days for her, and she'd find his arms wrapped around her. It never had mattered, either, she'd noticed, that he never really said anything, since really, it was all she needed, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear as she tried to fathom it, how it all could change in a heartbeat, even when you weren't expecting it at all.

"So how was it here," she asked wryly, motioning to the coffee table as she surveyed the damage.

It wasn't like it mattered, though, she imagined, that he fed them pizza and Christmas cookies for dinner sometimes, since it wasn't like they never ate vegetables, and it wasn't like she couldn't sweep up a few crumbs – or pine needles – the next morning, and it wasn't like the spilled milk streaks wouldn't come off the table with a little furniture polish, and it wasn't like all the sopping wet towels from Eric's bath wouldn't dry, and it wasn't like she had anything to complain about, really, since it was beautiful, the tree, and they were safe in their beds, and it wasn't like it was anything that she couldn't fix, or clean.

"Tomatoes are vegetables, you know," he mumbled defensively.

It almost made her giggle, his expression, because it reminded her so much of Eric's when he was pouting, even if it wasn't fair, really, to make fun of him when he was so sleepy, and it wasn't fair, really, that she was still testing it delicately, to see if it was ticklish.

"I thought they were space invading tyrants?" she giggled, running her hands along his back. It was almost completely unknotted, she noticed, for the first time in months, and it was probably doing him some good, the rest, well, that, and them doing it the night before, she imagined with a smirk, and it was melting into her hands again, the silky supple curve of his spine, the way it used to before he'd agreed to do it, the job that was all wrong for him, and it was lowering her blood pressure too, she was fairly sure, the warm, smooth feel of it as it slid beneath her fingers.

"That too," he agreed, already dozing off as he curled lazily around her. It figured, too, she thought with a smirk, that they'd spend it at Beth's again – another perfect Christmas dinner. Not that she could help it, since it wasn't like her own home would ever be anything like Beth's or Barbie's, not while she lay quietly beside a milk stained coffee table, and an over decorated Christmas tree, and a fire place that still needed stockings, and a man who apparently thought that pizza was a vegetable, at least, when he wasn't driving around in a convertible car in negative ten degree weather, much too soon after his surgery, toting home a huge fir tree, just because he knew she wanted it.

She would've admitted it right there, too, possibly, if he'd managed to stay awake, that she actually did like it, the feel of the blue green shag carpet against her skin, even if it did look like radioactive seaweed. She would've done it right then and there, too, except that it must have completely worn him out, doing it the evening before, even if she'd done all of the work, and it was already settled placidly against her for the night, as sleepy as the rest of him, and it wasn't like she had to do it to actually enjoy it, at least not after days like this, the feel of it pressed against her as he snored safely in her arms.

* * *

><p>It figured that it would be icy on the way up Beth's steep walk, since it wasn't like he was completely back on his feet yet, and it figured that he'd have to wear the slick, pinchy shoes, anyway, despite the weather, and he just didn't get it – why April was after Eric to keep his tie straight, as if that could possibly matter to a seven year old – and it figured that Beth had three trees up that year, and that all four of the fireplaces in her house were fully lined with elaborate stockings, since he didn't get that part either – sticking gifts in glorified socks – but it was something April obsessed about, too, and she apparently still wasn't doing it right, however it was you were supposed to do it in Ohio.<p>

It wasn't quite as long as past years, though, the dinner Beth hosted for her whole family, or it might've just seemed like that, since he was still a little hazy. It was easier for him to fade into the background, though, now that April's parents had grandkids – and they'd finally gotten it for real, that they had grandkids as in plural – and it was actually good, he reminded himself, that the girls had some aunts, even if they were crazy and drove April to distraction talking about all of it, Eric's slippery shoes and Abbey's headless sugar cookies – as if that affected the taste at all – and Katie's surly moods.

It was over before he knew it, though, the usual lecture from Jenny and bragging from Cari – who was already a rising star at Seattle Presbyterian, at least, according to her, and flirting from Dani – who still wasn't speaking to Neil, possibly from their screaming fight during the previous year's meal, as far as he could tell, and the grudging, gruff football commentary from April's father and her mother's reminder that people are what they eat, as if it was her personal mission to get him to like broccoli.

It was a quiet ride home afterwards, anyway, since Eric was asleep and Katie was texting and Abbey was flipping through a photography magazine Beth had given her, and Alex just leaned back in his seat and tugged at his collar while April drove – as if he couldn't have done it just fine – and he just stared out the window and imagined it, the soundtrack running through her head, about how it was going to be next year, with the tree and the fireplace and the baking and the jumbo candy canes and the sisters she'd swear that she wasn't competing with - because it "wouldn't be the Christmas spirit" – even if it was the "Christmas spirit," apparently, to nitpick over Abbey's sugar cookies that were certainly the best he'd ever had.

It was over soon enough, though, all the holiday stuff, and it was back to work part time for a month and it was harder than he'd imagined, trying to explain it all to Bailey, and it was harder still as he grumbled through the meetings, because the new head of the NICU couldn't be Anderson, who was annoying, or Clark, who was just dumb, or Edmonds, who the whole staff hated, and it just went on and on as paper work backed up and schedules clashed and more skilled critical care pediatric nurses left in a huff.

It wasn't all bad, though, he noted the following month, since it scored him some choice tickets, and it was just in time, and it wasn't like they'd have to dress up to go see it, and Eric would love it, and April was always saying they should do something for it, and it wasn't like they couldn't get their schedules to work, since it was on a Saturday night, which was even better since it wasn't even on a school night.

* * *

><p>It figured, she muttered, shaking her head as she dropped her hand sanitizer back into her purse, since it wasn't like Alex or Eric could wait to dig into it, the mound of cotton candy he'd bought the minute they got to their seats, since he and Eric had talked about it in the car before they even got there, and she could see it all already, the stickiness that it would take her days to get out of Eric's hair.<p>

She couldn't even look at it, either, the acrobatic trapeze show carrying on high above their heads, and she just glanced over at Eric and Alex again, instead, two identical profiles stuffing fluffy pink and yellow clumps of sugar in their mouths and mesmerized by the flips and leaps in mid-air. She could already see it, too, or hear it, the ambulance sirens rushing toward their house after Eric tried it, back flipping out of the tree house, or catapulting himself from the swing set, and it would be just like the first responders, to ask her why she hadn't seen it coming, since she was a trauma surgeon and all.

The show in the far ring caught her attention, instead, and she just ignored it, Alex's smug commentary that Gracie and Tobey could out leap those circus dogs, and she tried not to add her own remarks to it, that Winston might be a little more active, too, If he'd stop stuffing him with cheese doodles and sugar cookies and pancakes, as if she didn't see any of it, just because he didn't like the diet dog food she'd spent hours researching on the internet, and finally bought even if it was fifty dollars a bag. Not that it would work, of course, she almost added under her breath, if Alex only served it to him as an appetizer.

The clowns in the second ring were at it, too, carrying on a skit in their clown car – a convertible, and she would've pointed it out to him, too, except that he and Eric had already spotted it, and were pointing and hooting and hollering and stamping their feet at it, as if they missed the point completely, that it was completely impractical as an actual vehicle, which was why it was so funny in the first place.

At least she didn't have to listen to it this time, though, since they were wearing jeans and sneakers -the identical whining and pouting over pinchy shoes and crooked ties, since it was apparently genetic, and Eric had obviously inherited it – and she just smirked at the show going on in the third ring as Alex and Eric eagerly pointed it out to her, as if she didn't get it – the alleged hilarity of miniature golf, played by actual midgets – and she almost shuddered to think about it, that Eric had inherited that too, Alex's warped humor, though to be fair, Abbey seemed to have inherited it, too.

It might even start making sense to her, too, though, if she wasn't careful, the warped humor, since it figured that she'd be spending her Valentine's Day with her husband – and their seven year old – at the circus, using tickets given to him by one of the new Peads nurses, a hot young red head, she was sure, since that seemed to be a job requirement. It was all fitting together, too, she imagined, as she rolled her eyes, since it wasn't like her love life hadn't been a three ring circus from the start, complete with the clown car, though, to be fair, he had gotten Mrs. DuBois home in it, and the biggest Christmas tree she'd ever seen, even if its decorating scheme had been, well, there were still no words for it.

It was her fault, too, she reminded herself, since she'd accepted it when she said "I do," that her Valentines Days would never be spent with a knight in shining armor, or even in pinchy shoes and a crooked tie, dining with her by candlelight. It was probably just as well, though, she imagined, since it wasn't like she'd have any idea how to do it anyway, remove crystalized cotton candy clumps from shining armor which, like stainless steel itself, was never really stainless, when you got right down to it.

It was her own doing, she admitted, as she felt Eric's sticky hand grab hers as the floor show ended, and tug her along after them through the rest of the circus fair, and she just smirked as Alex handed it over without a word – the dollar that Eric wanted to try to win a goldfish, as if she hadn't heard plenty of grumbling herself about that one, once upon time, something about suckers and scams and slimy feeder fish and their house not needing any more animals, ever – before he had helped to overrun it himself with Katie's aquariums, and Abbey's sea monkeys – which didn't photograph well, apparently, judging from their baby pictures –and, now, apparently, Eric's new additions.

It didn't exactly work out that way, though, she noticed, since the toy duck shooting wasn't Eric's thing, and the little plastic bowling balls just wouldn't cooperate, and the ring toss was an epic misadventure, and it was much harder than it looked – Alex reassured him – to get the ping pong balls in those little plastic buckets, and it went on for nearly an hour, and eighteen dollars, until he finally won it, a sickly little cactus that he hoisted over his head triumphantly, and she could already see it, the new pot and the new soil and the special arid succulent food it would need, if it even survived the ride home.

It was Eric's and he'd won it, though, and he was already considering names for it when they sat down together on a nearby bench, and it was there all over again, the strange flutter in her chest, because it was the same sticky fingers and the same hazel eyes and the same quirky humor and the same lopsided shy smile, and it just got worse when she looked up again, and she almost laughed out loud because it just looked ridiculous, the large purple and pink polka dotted giraffe that Alex was awkwardly toting with him as he walked hastily back to their bench trying to ignore it, all the funny looks he was getting.

It was gaudy and gangly, with incongruous blue eyes and bright yellow legs and a lime green mane, and it would look silly beside her dresser with the others – which were quickly forming a herd - and it wasn't jewelry or flowers or a romantic dinner for two, and it was more sticky fingers when she slipped her hand into his, and a smudge of chocolate frozen yogurt from his cheek when she kissed him softly, and a gruff and fumbly "It's a giraffe," stammered abruptly as he shuffled his sneakers, and an "I won it," mumbled helpfully after, with a shy hazel smile, and it was still fluttering wildly two hours later in their kitchen, as she helped Eric re-pot his prized cactus, even if it wasn't anything like the Valentines Days that she'd dreamed of at all.

* * *

><p>It was punishment, Alex was sure, since it started almost immediately as he returned to work full time. It was all one of Bailey's plots, her way of getting her message across, that he'd blown it, or screwed it up, or otherwise thwarted her plans for him again. It was pissing him off, too, because he just wasn't cut out for it, all the administrative crap, but it was almost as bad – her new scheme – since she'd assigned him the worst intern he could possibly imagined, and sauntered away chortling that he "deal with it."<p>

It gave her a perverse satisfaction he was sure, since it wasn't like she tried to hide, and she snorted about it herself as he complained about it all through March, and she reminded him about it every chance she got, that her own interns had been "Rose Mary's babies run amok," and it didn't freaking matter to her at all – that it had never been his idea, any of it, whatever it was she was referring to on that particular day, since really, there was a fair amount of it to cover – but it wasn't like he could make this idiot into a competent doctor, no matter what she said about it.

He was an absolute menace to the patients, Alex insisted to her in early April, and it was irresponsible of her to leave him on a floor with defenseless children. But it all just fell on deaf ears, and it would all be his fault, apparently , if new intern Arnold Timsen killed someone on his service, and it would add hours to his week, just to supervise him, or at least, to make him less of a menace, and it made no sense at all except that Bailey hadn't forgiven him for it yet, whatever she was mad about at the moment.

It dragged on, anyway, and it almost made matters worse, that Timsen tried so hard. It had become a running joke among the nurses, even, since his glasses were always slipping and his hands were always shaking and he was always dropping things – and it was just a matter time, they warned Alex, until it was a baby – and it couldn't have been more obvious that he was destined for something else, maybe pathology, they snickered, where the patients were already dead, or clinical research where it was expected, the stammering and the blushing and the reluctance to actually look anyone else in the eyes.

It was hampering everything, too, his pathological shyness, since it wasn't like he could be trusted to speak with the families about anything, and it wasn't like he could give instructions to the pretty young nurses without his voice cracking, and it wasn't like he could act decisively in surgery, since he second guessed himself over everything, and it wasn't like he belonged in a surgical residency program at all, since it had all just gotten worse when he'd rotated to the NICU, where the crying of the infants sent his nerves jangling and his teeth chattering and his blood pressure shooting through the roof.

That was self-reporting, too, since he monitored it, his own blood pressure, and it was on his personal medical ID alert, his allergies to basically everything, as far as they could tell, and it all would've been just funny if he wasn't doing it constantly, following Alex around like Winston did wagging his tail, and staring with wide brown eyes, and nodding eagerly at every word, and gazing up hopefully, though Alex was fairly sure he wasn't just after it, the big bag of cheese doodles always stashed under "R" in the kitchen pantry, where April would never to think look for it, since it would be out of alphabetical order.

It was driving him to distraction, and it wasn't helping at all, the on-going search for a new head of Peads, and it shouldn't have even bothered him that much. He was in the NICU most of the time, anyway, he reminded himself, at least, he had been until recently, until Peads became just as under staffed, and then it was budget battles there, too, and more staff turnover, and it should've been great since he was doing more of it than ever – cutting, which was what surgeons were supposed to do, he'd reminded Bailey testily the day before – but it didn't need scheduling hassles, and it needed reliable nurses, and it didn't need an over-eager, incompetent intern, and it was all just annoying.

It didn't help to grumble about it, either, since Cristina still chortled about it all being baby-sitting, and Meredith snickered that it wasn't like it was brain surgery, and Bailey just taunted him about trying to do it better this time, as if there'd be a second time, and it wasn't like he could even gripe to April, who'd just suggest charts and graphs and templates and to do lists and a better filing system, as if Timsen would be any more freaking competent if he labeled him with a big "T."

It wasn't like April would get it, anyway, since she was back at it again, heading up the Emergency Department, and it was like she was born for it, all the administrative crap, and she actually liked it, which just made him shake his head, and it wasn't like he couldn't do it again if he had to – if they needed the money for it that summer, for art camps or soccer lessons or whatever the kids wanted to do, and it wasn't like it would kill him, he grumbled to himself, if it hadn't last time.

It might even have some perks, he insisted, since it would get Bailey off his back and Timsen out of his hair and it would prove it, that he could damn well do it if he wanted to, that it hadn't been that he couldn't do it – that it had never been like he got fired from it, no matter what Yang said – that it might even make sense, since it wasn't like they could find anyone else who could do it better, even if he still didn't want to do it, really, when you got right down to it.

It didn't matter, anyway, he reminded himself later that week, since he still had time to think about it, and it was coming up that weekend, not that the commercials – or the nurses – would let him forget about it, and it was expensive but Eric liked it, and it was shiny and came in a little box, so April should like it, too, and it wasn't like she'd dropped any hints about wanting anything different, and he was fairly sure she would like it, even if Eric had wrapped it in wrinkled Snowman wrapping paper left over from the last Christmas, and smudged chocolate on the card he'd made for it – featuring Lego Cowboys.

* * *

><p>"It is beautiful," she repeated, fingering the giraffe shaped pendant as their hammock swayed gently in the golden May dusk. It had the children's birthstones arrayed in a delicate pattern among its spots, and it was certainly a unique Mother's Day present – maybe even one of a kind, she thought wryly - and it had even come with greeting cards: a crayoned, smudged homemade one from Eric, an elaborate floral photographic extravaganza that Abbey had plainly spent hours on, and a hastily signed Hallmark from Katie, with an incongruous snow-capped mountain scene on the front.<p>

"Eric picked it out himself," Alex nodded, pulling her closer.

"Oh, I figured that," she teased.

"You don't think I could do it?" he smirked.

"Circus tickets," she reminded him, giggling again.

"You loved it," he snorted, nuzzling her hair. "Karev men know their chick gifts."

"They do, huh?" she laughed, glancing over as Eric and three of his friends stalked through the creek, obviously up to no good. It had been inevitable, she imagined, that her sweet little boy would become a mud covered, smirking little menace to society, or at least, to her flower beds, and the kitchen floor. She gave it a year, too, two tops, before all the little girls in his class were falling for it, the hypnotic hazel eyes and the shy smile and the pouty grin and whatever the hell else it was that had doomed her, from the start, she imagined, when she got right down to it, and that still made it flutter in her chest, even when it was sticky fingered or milk smudged or mud splattered, or stored cheese doodles under "R."

"We do," he agreed, kissing her softly.

She'd noticed it over the past few years, that he didn't shy away from "Karev" as much as he used to, and it was mostly Abbey's fault, she imagined, peeking over at her daughter on the back deck, working happily at her pottery wheel. It had been obvious from day one, she remembered, that Abbey had him wrapped around her finger. But it went both ways, and it was pancakes for breakfast and bad movies on the couch and terrible shared jokes and adoring hidden smiles and quirky Father's day gifts.

"I think Abbey's making me something," she remarked quietly, peeking over at her again, since it was a tradition. Abbey was the family archivist, and the family historian, and the family photographer, and she was always making commemorative items, keepsakes and scrap books and vases and figures, and it was really amazing, her talent, and it was really taking over the house, her penchant for remembering.

"It won't top my appendix," Alex bragged smugly, and she giggled again because he was probably right. It had been a gift for him that Christmas, a life sized, anatomically correct, fully detailed appendix, complete with blood vessels and veins and arteries, and it had been a running joke between him and Abbey ever since – and she was fairly sure they'd even included Mrs. DuBois in on the alleged hilarity, not that she was ever clear how, exactly – and it was so typically them that it always made her laugh.

"I wouldn't dream of competing with your appendix," she teased, rolling her eyes as she slid her hand gently beneath his ribs.

It had been just like Abbey, too, to do a complete genealogy of the Karev family name, and to uncover a raft of pictures and documents on the internet, and to paper her shelves with faded photo printouts of possibly distant relatives. Abbey had it all worked out in her mind, too, an entire sweeping saga, of the difficult migration from frigid Russian plains, and a trek across America, building railroads and planting waves of grain, and a hard scrabble fight to secure fragile farms from drought and tornados, and a heroic rise from poverty and famine and violence to… a comfortable home in Seattle, and a job saving babies, and curing children, and a convertible for hauling Christmas trees… and headless models.

It was part fact, part fiction, part fantasy, April was sure – and it wasn't like Alex was prone to any of it, the heroic story stuff – but it was infectious, Abbey's enthusiasm, and it was almost palpable, her need to believe in it, and it must have been close enough to the truth to count for something, and it had rubbed off on him, too, April noticed, the ability to believe some of it, and even to take pride in it, and it had even led him to answer a few of Abbey's questions about it – about his mother and her struggles – and he hadn't insisted she put it away, his own mother's picture, when she'd dug it out and framed it.

It had a certain logic to it, she imagined, since they'd both lost their mothers way too young, even if they hadn't, exactly, and it was probably just as well that Abbey favored framing ghosts over fighting them, and it was probably just as well, that Abbey loved making things and keeping things and remembering things, since it was all falling into place for her, and it was a stark contrast to Katie, who seemed to be trying to forget everything, and was making a mess of it in the process, all of it.

It burst across her back just then, interrupting her stream of thought entirely, a spray of chilled water from a Super-Soaker water gun, and it almost up ended her, the hammock, as Alex charged off after them with a demonic laugh. She had no idea how it had happened, either, how Gracie and Tobey had been out-fitted with it, a supply of replacement water bottles, and she had no idea how she'd handle, the explanations PETA would no doubt demand, for how she'd allowed her dogs to be involved in it.

It was inevitable, though, since Winston was in on it, too, and it just erupted around her, and it was probably just as well, she sighed, reaching for it beneath her perch – the Super-Soaker Alex had given her, as if it made any sense at all, as a Mother's day gift – that he'd picked the latest model with the double barrel, since really, he was out-gunned by Eric and his friends, and if Alex and Abbey were going to win this round, she was going to have them to help them do it, even if it was Mother's Day.

* * *

><p>It came during the first week of July, the call from Katie's school, and it boiled his blood, and it reached sputtering, blinding rage by the time he'd snapped his phone shut, and he shoved it into Timsen's hands, the chart he was holding, as he stalked toward the elevator, and the ship would be docked by the time he drove the three hours to get to the pier, since he already calculated it, and it hadn't even occurred to him until he was pulling into the parking lot, that he hadn't even told April about it, yet.<p>

She'd hear about it soon enough, though, and he could tell it to the school's dean for the both of them, that it was not tolerated in their house, that Katie would certainly make up for it, that she would take whatever punishment the teachers wanted and then some, that it certainly would be something they would deal with strictly, that it certainly wasn't something they would ever expect from her, and that it would happen again only if it was the last thing she ever did before he strangled her himself.

He didn't actually say that last part out loud, and he only half listened as the dean explained that it had been a total of fifteen kids involved, and that it had been an embarrassment for the entire school, and that it had outraged all of the parents, and that they certainly intended to do something about it before it went any further, and that it wasn't even entirely clear whether all of the students involved would be invited back, and that he had to make it clear, that Katie might not get it – another second chance.

It went in one of Alex's ears and out the other, as Katie defiantly shoved her duffle bags in the car, and it was a chaotic mess by then, with irate parents shouting at their own kids, and it was slammed doors and rage that shot up to fury, when she piped up that "it was just pot."

He debated it, too, whether to have her walk the rest of the way back to Seattle, and he considered it, having her arrested on the spot, and he seethed about it, as she fiddled with the dials on the radio, and it occurred to him again as she stormed back into the house that he still hadn't told April about it.

She'd hear about it when she got home from the hospital, though, and it wouldn't matter, anyway, because he would deal with it, and it was all going back – the SCUBA gear she'd gotten as a birthday gift, and for getting solid B-s, and it was going to be a working summer, and since she was so into it, weed, she could do it for a living, and he dialed it on the spot, the number to a landscaping company owned by one of their neighbors, and he arranged it, that she'd be doing it for the whole summer, weeding.

He didn't want to hear it from April later that evening, either, about being reasonable, since it wasn't like he was the one who did anything wrong, and it wasn't like he was over-reacting, since no kid of his was going to be a fucking junkie, and he would not pipe down about it – since the other kids should hear about it, too, just so that they knew it would not be tolerated in their home, period, end of discussion, and he could care less about it, Katie's screaming about how she wasn't really their kid, anyway, because it didn't fucking matter what the legal forms said, she just wasn't doing it.

She was going to the job, too, and she could just forget about it, spending much time with her friends that summer, and the snow board went, too, along with her SCUBA gear, and he couldn't care less about it – if she hated him – because she may not be a Karev but she wasn't reliving that fucking curse no matter who the hell she was – and it wasn't like April should be defending her, anyway, since she'd had it right in front of her – a second chance – and she'd blown it up in a burst of fucking smoke.

It simmered through the house and it rattled the windows and it dripped down the walls – a battle of wills and a cacophony of silence – and it was slammed doors and stomped feet and endless grumbling about weeds and it was meetings with the school officials and formal apologies and discussions of academic probation – and it would be no soccer either, and possibly no debate team – and it would all be taken from her until she fucking got it, that she could lose it all to fucking drugs in a heartbeat.

* * *

><p>She couldn't say it shocked her when the call from came, from the school, since apparently Alex was too angry to talk, and had already stormed off to pick her up himself. It went downhill from there, and it echoed through the house rattling the glasses and shaking the floors and scattering the animals, and it just raged through their home like a tornado – or an up ended snow globe, she thought wryly, and she couldn't believe it herself the first time she thought it, that it was just pot, that at least it wasn't worse.<p>

She didn't say it out loud, though, because it would just set him off, again – anything would – and then he'd be off on it, again, lecturing Abbey and Eric about, too, and it was keeping him up nights – seething in the basement and it was keeping her up nights, too, and she tried to imagined how her own parents would've handled it, if they ever found about when Dani or Beth did it.

She couldn't mention it to her parents, though, since they'd never understand it, and she couldn't mention it to her sisters, who would all have advice – none of it especially helpful, she imagined, since it wasn't like Katie was the only problem. She got it, too, that it had been drugs and booze and pills that had almost derailed it entirely – his whole life – and that it destroyed his family, and that he wouldn't let it happen again, even if it was almost as destructive, the simmering rage he still had about it, all of it.

He couldn't even talk about it, she noticed, and it was hard to tell if it was because it was Katie, or because it had been his dad, before he'd put an end to it, or his mom, or if it was because she'd gotten so many chances most kids like her never got – and had blown it completely, at least in his view – or if it was just all fraying at the seams, the job and the kids and whatever else it was that was making his face burn and his hands tremble and his muscles knot and his breath strangle whenever he thought about it.

It was gnawing at her, too, because it wasn't just pot, really – even if it wasn't something worse, thankfully – since it had been like this with Katie for a while now, and it had gotten worse over the past year no matter what they did about it, and it wasn't enough that she was getting B-s now, even if it was the best she could do, since it was all the other stuff, too, the surly attitude and the sniping at Abbey and Eric and the repeated insistence that it wasn't like they were "really her parents," anyway.

She got it, too, some of it, that some of it was normal teenage nonsense, like Beth and Dani had gone through, and some of it was because she'd been abandoned by her biological parents – and they'd been warned about it by the social workers, to expect it from both of them, though Katie seemed to have it covered, while Abbey remained the happiest Karev ever, apparently. But it was getting harder and harder to tell if it was normal, or if they should do something more pro-active about it, like with the psychologists, even if it was all a "bunch of crap," at least as far as Alex saw it.

It wasn't the time to panic, though, she reminded herself weeks later, even after it was official, that Katie would be expelled for it, and it wasn't like it was entirely unexpected, even if it was a little harsh, and it wasn't like it would be the worst thing in the world for her to go to the local high school, even if she'd be starting out as a junior, and it sucked being a new kid, and it wasn't like she couldn't play soccer for them, even if it wouldn't be the same at all.

It wouldn't be that easy, though, April reminded herself, sighing as she stared at the ceiling at 2:00 a.m. on a warm August evening, since it would be Abbey's school, too, and Abbey would already have friends there, and it had actually worked – as much as she hated to admit it – the girls having separate schools and separate friends and separate interests – and it would all just run together, like oil and water, or a cold front and hot front – and it would all just thunder through the house, April imagined, and it would start the following week, and she wasn't at all convinced that any of them would be ready for it.


	16. Chapter 16

"Pecans," Alex said, nodding bright eyed and eagerly as Abbey poured pancake batter onto the stove top griddle.

"And M&M's," Eric added, jumping up from his chair at the kitchen counter and clapping his hands as he ran to grab the plastic honey bear shaped jar of maple syrup.

"And a shot of insulin," April muttered under her breath, shaking her head and sipping her coffee as she scanned the morning newspaper. No one heard her, anyway, because it was the first day of school, and Abbey was chattering excitedly about her old friends and her new classes, and Eric was plotting some surprise for his new teacher – which, April imagined, would surely involve detention and an angry note home from the principal, whatever it was – and Katie was hunkered down under an over-sized grey hoodie, scowling as she gazed longingly at the cell phone that was still off limits for another week.

"Awesome," Alex noted moments later, gleefully digging into his pancakes.

Abbey beamed back at Alex, and then shoveled another one onto Eric's plate as he giggled at the face she'd made on it with his requested M&M's. She'd even topped it off with a whipped cream sailor's cap for him, April noticed, which was more than she could imagine mustering at the moment, though she had managed to pack him a reasonably healthy lunch – which he'd no doubt trade for potato chips and a Twinkie, or a package of shiny SpongeBob stickers, or a pet frog. She could hear it already, the teacher's phone call about how she was starving her children, assuming they didn't lapse into diabetic comas first.

"I'm a sea monster," Eric announced grandly, slurping up the syrup coating his plate.

"You're a dork," Katie noted sternly, rolling her eyes.

"You dressed yet?" Alex demanded sharply, glaring at her.

"Yes," she muttered, rolling her eyes again.

"Doesn't look it," he snorted, sizing her up.

"They don't want me back, I don't want them back," Katie snapped.

"We're going," Alex insisted, dropping his plate in the sink with a sharp thud that rattled the room. "Get upstairs, get dressed, and let's go. Now," he added tersely.

"That's your bus," Abbey noted quietly, handing Eric his pirate backpack as she gathered her own things.

"You really think she'll like it?" he asked Abbey, whispering seriously.

"She'll love it," Abbey said brightly, nodding enthusiastically. "Mrs. Perkins loves sun flowers. She always had them on her desk when I had her."

"Okay," Eric agreed, shrugging on his back pack as he moved toward the door.

"You ready?" April asked, trying to refocus her attention on him as she took his hand.

"I'm in third grade now," he noted sternly, indicating without a word that he wasn't going a step near that bus with his hand in hers.

"That's right," she agreed, understanding immediately and collecting herself. It was just a matter of time, she imagined, before he'd be driving himself to school, and heading off to college, and running off to get married, and having his own children, who'd eat too much sugar and believe in sea monsters and refuse to hold their mother's hand in public, even if she had endured 9 months of pregnancy for them.

"Bye mom," he called, waving half-heartedly as he trudged onto the bus, and it was there all over again – the darkened expression and the bewildered bright hazel eyes blinking too quickly and the determined pout and the teeth dug firmly into his lip and she'd seen it all before – the frantic effort to hide what he was feeling, when he was scared or sad or it was all too much for him - and she remembered with a sigh of relief that she'd packed him a Snickers bar along with his peanut butter sandwich and his apple, since really, he was Alex all over again, and really, she didn't envy Mrs. Perkins – even if it did still make her heart flutter sometimes, how much he was like his father.

Not that his father was making her life any easier either, she reminded herself with a sigh, as she watched Abbey throw her arms around him, and whisper "it's okay, dad," as she gathered her things and breezed happily out the door to meet her own bus.

Abbey actually got him, April had realized long ago – she got Alex, and Eric by extension – and it made perfect sense, that she'd know what to make them for breakfast, and how to make Eric smile when he was struggling not to cry, and how to tell Alex she loved him without actually saying the words, and Abbey got it really – April noticed – that that was really all they needed, well, that and Snickers bars.

It was another story entirely with Katie, though, and she just held her breath as her oldest daughter stormed back into the kitchen, and she didn't say another word to Alex as he grabbed his car keys and stalked to the door – because she was sick of fighting with him about Katie and the school and second chances, or third, or fourth, since she'd lost count – and it was just plain wearing her down, the tornado that swept through the room whenever he and Katie clashed.

He just didn't get it, she was sure – that the school had expelled her, just like her parents had abandoned her, and he just didn't get it, why Katie had taken to reminding them daily that they weren't her real parents, and he just didn't get it, that he was just adding fuel to the fire, when he muttered "that's a relief" under his breath, just loudly enough for her to him, and he just didn't get it, that it just wasn't going to work – having Katie apologize to the dean, again – since it wasn't like she was sorry for anything she'd done, and it wasn't like she wasn't prone to burning her bridges – like someone else she knew, not that she'd point that out at the moment either – and it wasn't like it was the worst thing in the world, for Katie to go to Abbey's school, even if Abbey was none too keen on it.

Not that it wasn't driving her to distraction, either, April acknowledged, as she exhaled heavily and refilled her coffee cup – Katie's incessant sniping about having "real" parents out there – since it was obviously rattling Alex's nerves, no matter what he said – or didn't say – and it was annoying Abbey to no end, Abbey who wanted nothing more than to be a Karev, a hard scrabble Russian immigrant who built the American Midwest, and went on to establish a fashion empire – but it wasn't like they hadn't been warned about it years before, that this might happen, once the girls became teenagers, and wanted to assert their independence, and find their own places in the world.

He just didn't get it, she imagined, that it was a phase she was going through, that she would grow out of it, but she wasn't going to tell him again that this was a bad idea, that she'd never learn a thing if he kept fighting her battles for her, that even April's own parents would never have done that for her or her sisters – not that they ever found out half the stuff that Beth and Dani pulled – and it just made her head throb to think about it, and it was calmer at the hospital two hours later, where she could be peacefully surrounded by blaring sirens and beeping monitors and panicked, shrieking patients.

* * *

><p>"This is stupid," Katie insisted, folding her arms across her chest and glowering down the highway as he wove through dense traffic.<p>

"They said they'll let you back in if you apologize, and have a plan for improving your attitude," he corrected gruffly.

"There's nothing wrong with my attitude," she snorted.

"Right," Alex snickered. "You're an angel."

"Abbey's the angel," Katie retorted sarcastically. "She's your little miss perfect."

"This isn't about Abbey," Alex snapped defensively, since he was almost at his limit with it, her endless sniping at Abbey and Eric, as if they were the reason she no longer had her cell phone, or her SCUBA lessons, or her snow board. "It's about you not being a freaking junkie," he added fiercely.

"It was just pot," she blurted out, smirking triumphantly as she watched his face redden, his blood boiling as he drove.

"That's how it starts," he snapped, more fiercely then he intended. It wasn't, really, not always. He'd known plenty of people who'd just done weed, and stopped there. He'd known people who hadn't, too, though, and that was all he could picture as they barreled toward the school, Katie in prison, or lying on a polished steel slab in a morgue somewhere, with the needle still in her arm.

It hadn't been what he'd expected right from the start, exactly, Mayfield Academy, but it was rich kids, mostly, kids whose parents would put more pressure on them – not to mess up, not to screw around with their grades, not to settle for just getting by when they could do so much more. It was what kids like her needed, and it was more than he could give her by himself, and it was more than he could imagine her getting at Abbey's school – which was great for Abbey, since Abbey was, well, Abbey was Abbey – but just wouldn't be demanding enough for Katie, and it wasn't like April got it at all – since she wasn't one of those kids, the kind that could blow off assignments and mouth off at teachers and flunk easy classes – just to prove they had control over something – and fall through the cracks and get messed up with drugs and booze and crap way too easily if no one pushed them, and it wasn't like that was going to happen to Katie, not when he had any say in it.

"I bet you did it," she smirked, almost grinning as he grew more and more angry.

"This isn't about me," he sputtered, glowering at the road as he searched for the entrance sign. It wasn't, either, because it had all been different, when he was her age, and it had been way too close for comfort – how close he'd come to running out of second chances – and it wasn't happening to her no matter what she said or what she did, and it was making his stomach churn and the blood throb in his ears as they parked and made their way to the dean's office.

"What," she taunted, "no like father, like daughter bonding moment?"

"You don't want to be like me," he muttered under his breath as he scanned the room numbers stretching down the gleaming hallway.

"It's not like you're my real father, anyway," she reminded him pointedly, scowling again as he ushered her into a familiar suite of offices.

"Humor me," he snapped back, seething again as he walked over to the receptionist to check in. He was sick of it, really, sucking up to the pretentious blowhards who ran the school, and he was sick of it, hearing her squawk about her real parents – as if they'd ever even tried to check up on her – and he was sick of it, the paneled walls and the rick leather chairs and the rows of expensive bound books that no one actually read and the suffocating snobbery that went with it, the only second chance he could even imagine her having at the moment, since it wasn't like those came around very often, anyway.

He was shaking hands with the dean moments later, and he just slumped awkwardly in an over-stuffed arm chair as the man ushered Katie into his office for a private discussion, and it was like he'd just been called into the Principal's office, again, and it pissed him off royally – that he was a respected surgeon in the hospital, a department head, even, but just an errant parent here, a parent whose smart mouthed kid was apparently determined to throw it all away, for reasons he couldn't fathom.

* * *

><p>It took her almost two months to get expelled the next time – and the last time, the school assured her – and it had been over a Halloween prank, a stupid Halloween prank, and she should've seen it coming, April imagined, since of course it would involve a Halloween prank – since that was one of her favorite holidays – and it wasn't like she hadn't told him so before he'd dragged Katie back there the last time, that it just wasn't going to work.<p>

She'd tell him that again, too – that she'd told him so – but his anger was already rattling the windows, and Katie's surly attitude was just adding fuel to the fire, and she got it – she did – that Katie would never go back there and cooperate, not after they'd expelled her, and she got it, she did – that it was like being abandoned by her parents all over again, April imagined – and she got it, she did, that it wasn't like she would forgive them for that regardless of their reasons – anymore than she would the parents she didn't even know – and she got it, she did, that Katie was too angry to understand any of it at the moment, and would be until she got a handle on it, on being left behind.

She could tell him that Katie was a lot like him, too – much too much for them to find any truce at the moment – but he'd just roll his eyes at her, just like Katie would, and he'd just snap out something sarcastic, just like Katie would, and he'd just have to stew in his juices and sputter and simmer and rage until he untangled himself enough to think straight, and at least Abbey and Eric seemed to understand it, that it had nothing to do with them, that it was between Katie and dad, and Abbey had it just about right, as usual, April noticed with a smirk, as she plied Alex with pancakes, and chattered happily about her classes and her grades, and watched ridiculous Science fiction movies with him and Eric, as if it was even possible for fish to sprout opposable thumbs, mutants or not.

She could've told him that it was inevitable that Katie would be expelled – that it was just a matter of time – but it wasn't like Katie was doing hard drugs, and it wasn't like Abbey's school hadn't admitted her immediately, and it wasn't like she hadn't made a few new friends, at least – even if she was already a junior – and it wasn't like it would do much good for them to press the matter, since she was still so angry and so bitter that it wasn't like she had much time for anything else than to be mad at the whole world.

It wasn't like it helped anything, either, April imagined, that Abbey and Eric and Alex had their own little breakfast club in the mornings, and it wasn't like it helped matters at all, that Abbey got straight A's and had long wavy auburn hair and perfect skin and had her 100 closest friends on speed dial and had all the teachers raving about her, while Katie just snarked on people and blew off assignments and wore her over-sized hoodies like a uniform and tried every teacher's patience and generally made it very difficult for anyone to know her, much less actually like her.

"It's like Jenny all over again," Beth chuckled over the phone one evening, when April finally fessed up to all the trouble they'd been having with Katie, and it was, April agreed, remembering that Jenny had always been rowdy and prickly and loud and opinionated and generally impossible, even before she'd started hanging out with those girls in the French club, the girls who dressed all in black and blew smoke rings in the parking lot and snarked on everybody and snickered at the band geeks and the chess club and the science nerds and the hall monitors and even their own sisters.

It was, April imagined, like Jenny all over again, and Jenny had actually found her way – once she'd found her crowd – and it would probably be like that with Katie, April imagined, since it wasn't like Katie didn't have enough hang ups about what counted as a family, and who could be trusted, and it might be a while, April imagined, but it just might happen, once Katie got more comfortable at the school, and maybe even moved out of her younger sister's shadow.

It was probably just as well, too, April imagined, that Katie had never changed her name, that she was still Katherine Jane Jensen, that it wasn't immediately obvious – that she was Abbey Karev's sister – and it was probably even worth it, April imagined, to endure the looks she got herself from the school administrators – as if she'd deliberately set Katie apart by requiring her to keep her biological parents' name, as if they were planning to return her to them at a moment's notice – since, really, it wasn't like they hadn't worked that out with the adoption authorities long ago, and it wasn't like they hadn't respected Katie's decision at the time, and it wasn't like that was even the issue – her last name – when, really, they were more interested in restoring some kind of peace to the household.

* * *

><p>"Can I, dad?" Abbey asked, her shining grey eyes imploring him as the late afternoon sun filtered through her wavy auburn hair, her long, loose curls blowing in the crisp November breeze. He'd seen that look before, the look she gave him when she wanted something, like he was some kind of knight in freaking tin armor, and his stomach just spilled into his work boots as he gripped the rake tighter – as if that could somehow fend her off – and it wasn't helping one bit, that the squirming mass of brown and black fur she clutched in her arms was wearing the same expression, as it eagerly tried to lick his face.<p>

"Isn't she pretty?" Abbey added breathlessly, and he just stammered and sputtered, because it was just the kind of mangy thing April would bring home, and it had so much freaking fur growing in so many different directions that he might not have noticed it was a dog at all, minus the huge brown eyes that gazed up adoringly at him, matching Abbey's own.

"She needs a home," Abbey insisted, moving closer to him and nodding eagerly, and it freaking figured, because Abbey was April all over again, and it wasn't like they hadn't gone over this just a few months before with Pecans – the under sized, Calico kitten she'd rescued, apparently from some misadventure in a paint factory, judging by its crazy coat pattern, which still made him dizzy when she crawled onto his chest at night, as if he wanted his face pawed at by a purring, shedding fur ball.

"I'll take care of her," Abbey added, nodding wide eyed again, and he could feel it all over again, his pulse pounding in his ears, because he'd had this discussion with April many times, and it always ended the same way, and it wasn't like they were running a freaking zoo – except that they sort of were as far as he could tell – and it just freaking figured that the damn thing would be a "she," as if the house wasn't already on estrogen overload.

"Can I, dad?" she repeated, imploring him with her eyes again, and it almost made him laugh – if he could've recovered his breath at all – since it wasn't like he'd ever figured out how to say no when she looked at him like that, and it wasn't like he'd ever said yes, exactly, to Tobey or Gracie or Maxine or Pecans or whoever the hell else wandered into their informal animal rescue.

"Thanks again, dad," Abbey repeated an hour later, as he tossed it all into the backseat of the convertible, the leash and the Snoopy dog dish and the orange squeaky toys and the dog food.

At least it was smaller than it had looked at first, he thought, frowning as he watched it clamor into the car, as if it had lived with them for years, and at least it didn't look quite so – furry – thanks to the eighty dollar grooming, and at least it smelled less like a stray, though the apricot shampoo they'd used on it didn't exactly fit it, either, and he'd always hated it – the stupid little bows they put in the dogs' hair, which he was sure just plain embarrassed Tobey and Gracie whenever they'd been groomed, and it just figured, the scent of apricot that surrounded him as she licked his ears while he drove.

"Come on, Pancakes!" he heard Abbey call as she sprang out of the car and raced into the yard. "Meet your brothers," she added, motioning to Winston and Tobey, "and your sister," she noted, as Gracie came rushing along, wagging her tail with her favorite blue Frisbee in tow.

It was April all over, he thought with a smirk, as he glanced over at Abbey playing with them, while Winston toddled over, shadowing him as he returned to his raking.

He'd hear about it, too, he was sure. He'd hear about how she'd already named the dog, before they'd even had a chance to discuss it, as if April would ever refuse a homeless mutt with paisley brown fur and a possible skin condition – at least, according to the rip off groomer. He'd hear about it, too, that he was favoring Abbey again, as if he could help it that Katie was being impossible while Abbey, well, Abbey… it wasn't like he'd said, yes, exactly, it was just that he couldn't… it was just that she looked at him like that, and then they were in the car heading to the pet shop, or the fabric store, or the camera store, or wherever else she wanted to go.

It wasn't like he favored her, though, he insisted, because he'd give Katie anything she wanted, too, if she'd just stop… if she'd just… and it wasn't like April was any different, he grumbled to Winston, since it wasn't like she hadn't already gotten Eric the Mega Prehistoric Lego Adventure kit for his upcoming birthday, and it wasn't like Eric wasn't already getting the dinosaur pirate themed party he'd wanted – as if that was even possible, pirates sailing ancient seas inhabited by Mega Shark and Crocasaurus – and it wasn't like Eric didn't have April wrapped around his sticky little fingers, anyway, even if she did make him wear chocking ties and pinchy shoes on holidays.

It was April all over again, Alex muttered to himself, glancing over at Abbey again as she happily tossed Gracie her Frisbee, and it wasn't like he could help it – that Abbey was smart and funny and a sucker for any homeless stray with a sob story, that Abbey made him blueberry and pecan pancakes and snarked at his movies and gave him ceramic body parts and bragged about him to her teachers and looked at him like, like… like she was cool with it, being his kid and all, no matter what the freaking forms said.

* * *

><p>She heard it through the in house grape vine first – Abbey and Eric – and she was a beautiful Sheltie mix, April decided, possibly with some blue Merle tones, the newest edition to their family, and it almost made her giggle, when Abbey assured her that dad "had said yes." She doubted he'd said any such thing, exactly, though she could image the flustered stammering Abbey's requests usually elicited from him, before he was grabbing his keys or his wallet or his pen or whatever else he'd need to spoil her.<p>

"He hates dogs," Katie scowled, glancing down at the new arrival before rooting in the refrigerator for a yogurt cup.

"He does not," Abbey scoffed, opening a package and handing Pancakes one of the toys they'd bought. "He loves Winston," she pointed out, smirking as Winston lay patiently beside the pantry, waiting for him to get home from the hospital.

"He calls Winston a furry speed bump," Katie reminded her, digging into a nearby drawer for a spoon.

"He doesn't mean it," Abbey giggled, rolling her eyes. "You can't really go by what he says."

April almost laughed at the exchange as she hung up her coat and filled the tea kettle, because it was basically Alex Management 101 – understanding that he generally either said nothing, or grumbled something he didn't actually mean – and it had taken her a while to get used to it, even if she had caught on more quickly to some of it, like the actual source of Winston's perennial cheese doodle breath – which was not an "undiagnosed medical condition," no matter what Alex said, but directly related to the snacks stashed under "R" in the pantry, as if that would hide them.

She wondered if it was genetic, too – as she watched Eric clamor up to the kitchen counter for his snack – and it was the same hazel eyes gazing adoringly at her, as he wordlessly pushed his latest detention notice across the smooth surface before slurping his chocolate milk.

It figured, she thought, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh, and she didn't want to hear it again – about how he'd done nothing – and she could just imagine it, how much he'd been tormenting the little girls in his class, and she just didn't want to see it again, the same impish giggle and shy smile as Abbey made faces with chocolate chips in the oatmeal she'd just microwaved for him, and she didn't want to hear it that evening, either, the sleepy, muffled "I love you, mommy," as his arms circled her neck, before he'd burrowed into his dinosaur pillow and drifted off to sleep.

It was almost instantaneous, she noticed – of course it was, since wreaking havoc in his class took a lot of energy, apparently – and she'd thought about it half-heartedly, once or twice, returning the prized Lego set he lusted for, but it was already wrapped and hidden in the laundry room, and it wasn't like it wasn't perfectly normal – for little boys and girls to annoy each other – and she imagined it was the calm before the storm, really, since he already had that… that… whatever it was that made the pretty young nurses who worked with Alex all giggly and annoying – and, really, it was just a matter of time.

It was just a matter of time, she reminded herself, as she finally settled in to watch her home decorating show later that evening – and it figured, that it would feature the same counter material that Beth had installed in her kitchen two months before, in preparation for her holiday hosting – counters that would never be smeared with maple syrup and cool whip and whatever they put on their pancakes – and it gnawed at her some more – that it was time – time to talk to Katie about… it.

She'd needed to hear about it, April reminded herself, sighing again – not about how Alex was unfairly favoring Abbey, despite the new dog, or about how he wasn't just fawning over Eric because he was a boy – though he still wasn't taking those freaking karate lessons, no matter what Alex said – or about how he wasn't quite as angry at her as he seemed, though really, that was a hard case to make, even if he hadn't said anything, exactly – not that he had to, since it was written all over him – but about it.

It made her cringe, and it freaked her out, because Katie was blunt and direct and no nonsense and never shied away from anything, and she could already imagine being asked about it – about her own first time – and she could already imagine hearing about it, about waiting until she was thirty, and it just made her hands clammy and her heart pound – wondering what Katie already knew about it, since it wasn't like it was any secret, that a lot of kids in her class were already doing it, and she wondered if she even wanted to know, really, if it wasn't already too late, to talk to her before she did it for the first time.

She'd already put it off longer then she should have, she scolded herself, and she rolled her eyes as she thought about it – that her own mother had never talked to her about it at all – and it wasn't like her younger sisters hadn't filled her in on everything anyway, in graphic detail. But it wasn't like Katie was going to get that from Abbey, since Abbey would probably be more like her, she imagined, not that it was better, necessarily, she reminded herself, to put it off so long just because it made her so nervous.

It made her stomach churn, just thinking about it, and it wasn't like she wasn't a doctor, but it wasn't like that helped any either. It wasn't like she hadn't seen it all before though, and it figured, that Katie would be so much like Dani or Beth, slender and stacked, and it figured, that she'd be just the type to attract all of the boys' attention, while Abbey faded into the background, and hung out with her friends and her fashion and her school work, and it made her hands shake just thinking about it – how casually Beth and Dani had done it in high school.

It kept her up that evening, and she finally wandered down to the family room, and she smirked when she saw it, Pecans purring happily on Alex's chest as he dozed on the couch, while Pancakes curled beside Gracie and Tobey near the fire place, with a squeaky toy donut still clutched in her paws.

She dropped onto the cushions, brushed her fingers lightly over Alex's hair, and rolled her eyes again as she tried to fathom what she'd tell them about it, about how you could dream about it, the whole knight in shining armor thing, and you could wait for it – for thirty freaking years – and you could plan it all out, and still end up an inadvertent dirty mistress the first time you do it, and however you imagine it, it will never turn out anything like how you'd fantasized about it, once upon a time.

* * *

><p>He just glared at April and rolled his eyes as she signed it – Katie's December report card – scrawled clear across with the C's and D's she'd no doubt earned in her classes, and the flaming F for attitude, and he just didn't want to hear it, about how she was still "adjusting," about how they should just "give her time," about how they couldn't compare her to Abbey – as if that was even what he was freaking doing, when he pointed out that at least one of their children was managing high school just fine.<p>

He didn't want to hear it the following month, either, about how he was being too hard on her, with the relentless curfews and the demands that she check in with her teachers weekly, and he didn't want to hear it, about how he was being completely irrational – when he brought home the drug testing kit from the pharmacy – and he didn't want to hear it, about how she'd never forgive him for not trusting her, because really, what the fuck good would her trust do him if earning it got her killed.

He didn't want to hear it from Katie, either, about how all the other juniors had their own cars, as if that was ever going to happen for her, or about how she'd be a social outcast if she didn't get her cell phone back – as if he hadn't been one himself, as if he hadn't had to steal food himself when he was a kid, as if he didn't fucking become a doctor, anyway – and he didn't want to hear it from her, about how all the teachers were stupid and all of Abbey's friends were dorks and Eric was a klutz who'd never get off the bench of his soccer team, while she could be a trophy winning star if she wanted to, which she didn't.

He didn't want to hear it, either, about how much better her real parents would treat her – as if they gave a fucking damn about her, and he didn't want to hear it from her, about how the attic was drafty and cold, and about how only a moron would drive a convertible around Seattle, anyway – and that she certainly wouldn't – as if that was ever going to happen, either – and he didn't want to hear it, about how Abbey got everything she wanted – as if she didn't earn it all – while she got nothing.

He was even dreading it when it came up at work, when Bailey chortled and Yang smirked and Mere sympathized when they remembered it, that he had two teenaged daughters, and when smiling young parents – newly released from their babies' health crises asked him about it – asked him what it was really like to be a dad. Not that it jarred him, at least, not like it had once upon a time, to hear the term applied to him. But it wasn't like there were any words to describe it, or any way to get ready for it.

He could tell them about Abbey, he thought with a smirk, about how she made him breakfast – and ceramic body parts – and watched cool movies with him, even if he just didn't get it all, her passion for taking pictures, and tracking down stray stories about old Russian immigrants, and making fancy clothes for a headless mannequin, even if Mrs. DuBois was kind of hot, if you were into headless chicks.

He could tell them about Eric, too, he imagined, about Eric who was supposed to be a great athlete, except that he wasn't, at all; about Eric who liked math, which was weird, and pirates, which was cool, and who built elaborate Lego buildings with working lights and windmills, and who was supposed to play for the Seahawks someday – except that that would never happen – though he might design their new stadium someday, which really, was pretty cool, too.

He'd scare the crap out of them if he told them about Katie, though, and it wasn't like he could leave out that part and still be honest about it – about what it was like to be a parent – and it wasn't like he'd lie to them, and it wasn't like he could explain it, anyway, what it was like to hunt creek monsters with Eric, or load floral fabric bolts into his car for Abbey, or coach Katie on the soccer field – at least, back when she still thought he was someone worth listening to.

It wasn't like there were words for any of it, anyway, and it was easier to just sign all the forms and wish the new parents luck – since they'd need it – and it wasn't like it would do any good to say anything to April, since really, she didn't seem to think he was worth listening to these days, either – at least, not about Katie – and it wasn't like there were words for it anyway, for what it was like to watch someone self -destruct, even though, really, he'd seen it all before, more times than he could count.

* * *

><p>"It's a new year," April said cheerfully later that January, as she handed Katie the cell phone she'd been pining for, on the kids' first day back at school.<p>

"It'll be a fresh start," she insisted, nodding hopefully at Alex despite how his face darkened, as Katie and Abbey breezed out the door to catch their bus, while Eric surveyed his packed lunch with a scowl.

"I thought we agreed-?" he muttered through gritted teeth, deliberately lowering his voice as April hushed him.

"Do you want Oreos or gold fish crackers?" April asked Eric, as she surveyed his packable snack options.

"Both," he said hopefully, beaming wide eyed at her, and it was just hopeless, she thought with a sigh, as she stuffed them both into his lunch box, because really, it was too much for her that morning – the hazel gaze and the wide, easy grin and the twinkling, mischievous smirk and his bus was due any minute, too, and it wasn't like she didn't already have her hands full with the taller version of him, and honestly, she'd just let his teacher deal with it that day, and she'd just hope that, whatever it was he'd be up to, it wouldn't involve two weeks detention, again.

"Thanks, mom," Eric chirped, smiling sweetly as he seized his lunch box and moved toward the door, and it was all false advertising, she was sure, and she remembered it vividly – the angelic school photos they'd sent home with him back when he was in kindergarten – and she was sure she'd hear about it this year, too, from her parents and her sisters and the nurses at the hospital, about how adorable he was, and she'd just smile and nod, she'd already decided, since they wouldn't know the half of it.

"It will be a new start for her," April insisted. That was just what she needed, too, April imagined. New classes, new teachers, some new friends – who wouldn't compare her to Abbey – maybe even a new club, since she'd been a soccer star, once, and a solid debate team member, back before it had all… back before it had all started to go so wrong for her.

"She needs to learn-" Alex sputtered, as he dumped their dishes into the sink.

"She needs us to have some faith in her," April snapped, sighing heavily as she glared back at him. It was really the last thing Katie needed, April thought tersely, Alex hovering over her every minute, with rules and curfews and that ridiculous drug test kit, as if he expected her to screw it all up in a heartbeat.

"Faith in what?" he demanded. "That she'll come home with another sold "D" average? Or a crack habit?"

"Her grades weren't that bad." April protested, packing the rest of the cookies away. Not that she couldn't do better, April admitted to herself – not that she hadn't done a lot better, back when she was still applying herself to things, back when she was still interested in things, back when she was still all about saving the whales and protecting the planet from the evils of plastic water bottles and over fishing and river run off caused by irresponsible paper manufacturers.

"And she's not doing crack," she added, rolling her eyes. She wasn't, April was sure, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen it all before – with Beth and Dani – and it wasn't like they hadn't experimented some with it, pot, and turned out fine, anyway, even if they could be annoying about it – about how well they turned out, and about how she could be more like them, if she'd just do it differently, her hair, or her meal planning, or her clothes selecting, or how she frosted her low carb Christmas cookies.

"Honestly, you're acting like she's a criminal," she continued, grabbing a sponge and vigorously scrubbing the maple syrup overflow from the counter.

"Pot's illegal," he retorted, raising his eyebrows at her.

"It's just a cell phone," April countered, rolling her eyes again. It was, she insisted. It wasn't like it was a car, or even the new skis she lobbied for – unsuccessfully – for Christmas.

"All the other kids have them, " she added, in response to his stony silence. "It will help her fit in." And it would, she imagined, or at least it would help, since that was how Abbey kept track of her million friends and her clubs and her sleepovers and her movies and her parties, and it wasn't like it could hurt any– since Katie already saw it at school every day, how popular Abbey was – and how popular she wasn't.

"With the other criminals in her class?" Alex snorted.

"With her new friends," April corrected tersely. She didn't want to hear it, either, about how the few kids Katie had brought home over the past few months were all that different from Abbey's friends, since really, it wasn't like they looked like vampires or drug addicts, or even those nasty, snotty girls from the French club that Jenny used to hang out with.

"Like that will help," Alex grumbled, grabbing his keys and shrugging on his coat.

"It's not like your way was doing her any good," April snapped. "What's your next great idea, that we lock her in the attic until she's thirty?" That's probably exactly what he was considering, she imagined, and it wasn't like the whole military discipline thing had made matters any better between them, and it wasn't like that would ever work on Katie, who chaffed at any rules just as a matter of principle.

"At least we'd know what she was doing," Alex snapped back. "You already told her she could go off with the weird Sandra chick."

"Sarah," April corrected impatiently. "And it's just to a late movie, on a weekend." It was just one night, and it wasn't like she hadn't met Sarah several times, and it wasn't like they were going any further then the mall, and it wasn't like the 9:30 showing of a PG movie was likely to draw out the criminal element.

"Whatever," Alex growled, grabbing his work bag as he stormed across the kitchen.

"She might surprise you," April reminded him, staring at him seriously, "if you'd give her a chance. This might be just what she needs to turn it all around. A new semester, some new friends, some confidence from her parents, that we trust her" April emphasized through gritted teeth.

"Trust, huh?" Alex smirked, rolling his eyes as he grabbed the door knob.

"She is our daughter," April pointed out. It was out of her mouth before she realized it, and it occurred to her just then that she'd heard this discussion before – probably between her parents, probably about Jenny – of Beth, or Dani – and it washed over her again, that impulse to call her mother and apologize to her for it– for everything her sisters had put her through.

"Not according to her," Alex snorted, breezing out the door and slamming it firmly behind him.

"Right," April sighed, surveying the stray utensils and pots and school books still littering her kitchen counter, and it was there all over again, that he just didn't get it, that Katie never really meant it, when she insisted he wasn't her real father, that it was just her way of being so impossibly, so infuriatingly – so whatever it was that made her, her – even if it was hurting her as much as it was him.

He just didn't get it, she grumbled to Pecans, as she dabbed a familiar splatter of maple syrup from the sink faucet – and it was pointless to mutter, since Pecans would just take his side, anyway, since he just spoiled her as bad as he did Winston – and he just didn't get it, that it was Jenny all over again, and that she'd already seen it with her own parents – what worked for it and what didn't – and it wasn't going to be his father or his mother or Amber again, no matter how blind he was to it, that it was something else entirely, and that they'd deal with it, if he'd just be more patient with it.

* * *

><p>She told him to be patient, he muttered under his breath as he surveyed the batch of patient charts in front of him, as if it didn't take just one bad needle or one misread syringe or one fucking white line of powder to change everything.<p>

She told him to have faith, as if faith had anything to fucking do with it – as if his mother hadn't had plenty of fucking faith in his father when he was beating the crap out of her, as if Amber hadn't had plenty of fucking faith in Aaron, until he closed his fingers around her neck, as if faith wasn't just another fucking "F" word, or a code for stupidity, when you saw the train coming straight at you and let if fucking run right over you, anyway.

She told him it would be a fresh start for Katie, but it was the same crap grades, the same surly attitude, the same snorted commentary on Eric's soccer playing and on Abbey's pictures for her fashion projects and the Valentine's Day surprise that he'd be sprung on April.

It was just as well, anyway, he grumbled – that Katie had stayed in the hotel room the whole weekend, while he and April and Abbey and Eric had had a great time at the San Diego Zoo – where April had been able to pet a real giraffe, even if the tickets were eighty bucks a pop – instead of just the stuffed ones in the herd over-running her dresser – and it had been a great idea, no matter what Katie said, and April loved giraffes, and it wasn't like you could find one just anywhere, a dancing giraffe key chain that lit up and could be programmed to sing any song, including the Ohio State fight song.

She told him to be patient, he muttered again – this time to a young patient he was rocking in the NICU, at 3:00 a.m.- and apparently, he was just supposed to ignore it, that Katie had come home 15 minutes after the curfew April had set for her – 20 minutes, actually, he insisted to the gurgling baby boy, if you went by the clock in the den – and that she'd just brushed it off as "no big deal."

She told him to be patient, he growled under his breath again, a month later – scowling as he caught up on his never ending paperwork – and apparently he was a crap father for pointing it out, that her grades still sucked and her attitude still sucked and her new friends were all freaking losers.

She told him to be patient, he grumbled to Meredith the following month, and he just rolled his eyes as Mere smirked and muttered "teen aged girl" again and he wondered what it was about that freaking phrase that made everyone else shudder, since Abbey was a freaking teen aged girl, too, and Abbey was freaking awesome, even if some of her fashion designs looked like she'd been taking advice from Mrs. Dubois – who was stacked and hot and all, but seriously, had no eyes – being headless and all.

She told him to trust his daughter, he muttered through gritted teeth – as he scooped up a listless, under sized toddler from her crib – and it just pissed him off to no end, that the little girl in his arms probably wouldn't survive her next round of chemo, that she probably wouldn't even get three freaking years, while Katie had gotten more chances then he could count, and was still doing her level best to throw them all away.

It pissed him off royally, and it made his blood boil, that the little girl in his arms still toyed with his staff I.D., and gazed up at him as if she'd follow him anywhere – as if he could still fucking save her – while Katie pushed him away like some kind of fucking pariah, as if he wouldn't have given it all to her in a heartbeat – the skis or the car or the I-Pad or whatever the hell else she wanted – if she'd just stop throwing it all back in his face, that it wasn't like she'd ever expected anything from him to begin with.

* * *

><p>She was finally getting the hang of it, she insisted to herself later that spring, and it was working, she pointed out to him that March, since Katie's mid-term grades were improving, and her new best friend Sarah had even made the honor roll, and it wasn't like she could resist it – telling him she'd told him so – when it began arriving in the mail, the pile of college catalogs, after she'd aced her SAT exam.<p>

It was finally turning around, she told Beth that April, even if Katie and Alex were still grumbling at each other, and it wasn't like that was a surprise, she added – since they were both stubborn and hot headed and prone to the loudest silences she could imagine. It wasn't like they hadn't agreed to it, either, more or less, that she'd teach Katie to drive as long as her grades held up, and it wasn't like looking into used cars for her would be all that extravagant, if she kept on track with her college plans.

It was finally happening, too, she insisted to her mother later that month, since Katie and Abbey had been spending more time with Beth lately, and Abbey was getting Katie into photography, too, and it was just like she'd imagined, once upon a time, that they could spend a few hours together without a referee, and could even be civil at the breakfast table, even if the usual snarking and squabbling continued.

It was finally working, she sighed that May, the whole family thing, even if it was never how she'd ever imagined spending a Mother's Day – at the go-cart track, watching Eric tear around in his little red racer, terrorizing some snarky little girls sporting overdone hair and entirely too much make up, while Katie and Abbey ganged up on Alex, bumping him into the pylons in the far corner.

She should probably do something about it, too, she thought with a smirk, but it was his brilliant idea – the whole go-cart thing – and it wasn't like go-carts were any more sensible then convertible cars in Seattle, and it wasn't like he hadn't already snarked on Katie about her driving – just because she'd dented the garbage cans once or twice, and plowed over Mrs. Anderson's mail box, which, to be fair, was rickety and due to be replaced, anyway – and it wasn't like he didn't have it coming.

She should probably do something about it, anyway, she reminded herself, smirking again as she sped toward them in her own racer, but it was entirely his doing – that they couldn't just go out to dinner like a normal family – and it was entirely his doing, that the kids could be so competitive, and it was all his fault – because she was an awesome mother, she reminded herself smugly – and she just couldn't help it, she insisted later that evening, after she'd sped up even more and plowed right into him.

It "was totally cheating," he grumbled later, following her into the pizza place as the kids raced ahead, squabbling over seating arrangements and eagerly scanning the menu, and it was why she shouldn't be teaching any of them to drive, he muttered as he devoured his pizza, and it was "totally freaking cool" what mom did, Eric giggled, as he piled hot dripping cheese into his mouth, and they were "totally freaking gross" – Eric insisted when Katie and Abbey teased him – the girls he'd rear ended – and it was finally freaking working, April sighed happily that evening, even if the cards the kids had given her ended up smeared with pizza smudges.


	17. Chapter 17

It's another season of spring practice, and he gets it – he does – that Eric's never going to be any good at it, any of it. It's not just that he's too small for football, or too slow for soccer, or too clumsy for baseball, it's that he's just not that into it. It's all about building things and dinosaurs and video games and science projects with him – and he's lobbying for a drum set like crazy – and it's just not going to work, any of it Alex reminds himself, as he watches scowling from the bleachers.

Katie could do it – Katie could win trophies, and Katie had it – the guts and the drive and the talent – but she didn't want it, either. She was all into photography, now, like Abbey, and she was all into hanging out with that weird Sarah chick, and she was all into getting her driver's license, and everything else had all just slipped away, the debate team and the soccer team and the history project team, and he had no idea what it was she wanted now, except for the car she kept squawking about, as if that was ever going to happen while he had any say about it.

It just wasn't going to work, though, he reminded himself, almost wincing as he watched Eric trailing the rest of the kids up the muddy field, and it was just going to get worse, as the other kids grew bigger and faster and more competitive, and it was just going to suck for him if he was just the science nerd or the computer geek or the kid who could build a working windmill from Legos.

It was just going to get worse, he reminded himself that June, squirming in the stands as Eric struck out again, and he was going to have to learn about it no matter what April said – about how to fight, and how to defend himself – and he was plenty freaking old enough for it– the karate lessons he still wanted to take, and she was going to sign it – the freaking parental consent form – whether she liked it or not.

She was going to sign it, he insisted through gritted teeth, and it was a battle of wills that spilled into July, as they dug out from under mountains of paper work, and reviewed new interns for the up-coming year, and he didn't want to hear it – her crowing about how right she'd been about Katie, and how wrong he'd been about… basically everything, as far as he could tell – since it wasn't like she had any idea about it, what it would be like for Eric if he wasn't a jock, and had no interest in any of it.

* * *

><p>She reminded him about it again that June – when he dragged out the stupid karate forms again– that it hadn't been jail or summer school for Katie no matter what he'd said, that she was actually working that summer – with Beth and Abbey, on photo shoots – and she was doing fine with her driving practice, and it had proved April's point the whole time, that she'd been right about it all, right from the beginning.<p>

She didn't want to hear it, either, about Karate and boys needing to know how to fight since it wasn't like it should even matter to him – that Eric liked science better than football – and it wasn't like he should be trying to turn Eric into some trophy toting jock – and it wasn't like he couldn't be a little more understanding, about Katie and her moods, and Eric and his preferences, and it wasn't like he couldn't make it a little less obvious, that Abbey was his favorite.

It wasn't like he should have favorites, period, she grumbled to herself late that June, peering out the kitchen window as she watched him tote a forty pound sack of clay for her pottery wheel onto the deck, as Abbey popped happily out of the convertible with Pancakes in tow. It was just like her mother with Beth, she muttered to herself – or like her father with super jock Dani – and it hadn't even mattered, that April had learned all about basketball just so she could watch it with him, since Dani would always have him first, and Beth would always be her mother's best friend forever, and Cari would always be the youngest, and Jenny would always be loud and flashy and opinionated, and April would always be the one who hovered in the background, and kept everyone else's book bags organized.

It wasn't like Eric could help who he was, April insisted to herself again later that week, and it wasn't like she didn't see it all the time in the Emergency Room – little boys pushed into violent sports by their trophy demanding, over ambitious fathers – and it wasn't like it did them any good, being brow beat and judged and forced into things.

He'd know it, too, she insisted to herself the following evening, if he wasn't so hyper-competitive about everything, and he could grumble about it all he wanted – about how it was an illegal shot, about how he and Eric had actually played by the rules – but it still didn't change it, the results of their latest raucous round of miniature golf, and it still didn't change it, that the girls had beaten the guys no matter how much he squawked about it, and it wasn't their fault if she and Abbey and Katie were just plain better at it, she snickered, dancing and hooting and hollering and waving her miniature golf club above her head while chanting "we beat you, we beat, we beat you," as if that wasn't the whole point of it in the first place, keeping score and all.

It wasn't like Eric should have to help who he was, anyway, she insisted the following month as she ran down her shopping list for their up-coming July Fourth picnic – shaking her head as she tossed two packs of his favorite fruity shark gummy bears into her shopping cart – because he was smart and funny and sweet and charming and giggly – when she wasn't signing his detention forms or mopping mud puddles from the kitchen floor after his Super Soaker water gun wars or wiping maple syrup from the counters – and it wasn't like she'd want him to be any different, anyway, even if he did have that little smirk.

It wasn't like Katie could help it, either, she reminded herself later that week as she mixed another batch of lemonade – that she wasn't Abbey – and it wasn't her fault that her best friend, Sarah, had pink and purple hair, as if that mattered, and it wasn't like photography wasn't more useful than soccer, anyway, since at least you got pictures from it, and not just trophies, which really, were just one more thing to dust when you got right down to it.

It wasn't like she wasn't good at it, either, maybe even better than Abbey, she thought, glancing across the yard to where Abbey and Katie and Sarah crowded eagerly around Beth, scanning her portfolio from her most recent whirlwind photo journalism tour – of Belize and Bermuda and the Bahamas – and chattering happily about the travel magazine project they'd be assisting her with the following week.

It was all about composition and perspective and computer enhancements, their in-depth discussion, and it spilled over easily into the models she'd photographed in Bermuda, and the exotic wild life she'd seen in Belize, and the parties she'd gone to in the Bahamas. Of course it did, April thought sourly, as she sat at the table beside them, because it was a permanent vacation – Beth's job – and a permanent party, and it was glittery and glamorous and exotic, and it was much more exciting than, say, running a Level One Trauma Center at a major city hospital, and actually saving lives.

It was infinitely more exciting than that, April imagined rolling her eyes – Beth's life – since she jetted off around the world as casually as most people went for a quick trip to the grocery store, and her work was published in major magazines, and it was all about peoples' fantasies – about crystal blue waters and white sandy beaches and sail boats floating serenely across sunny horizons – and it had nothing to do with mountains of paperwork and cranky scrub nurses and budget shortfalls and house-keeping staff who never kept the supply closets properly organized no matter how clearly she posted the charts they were supposed to follow.

* * *

><p>It was back to school before he knew it, and he wasn't supposed to say anything about it – April had reminded him sharply just that late September morning – about grades or college or what color Sarah's hair would be that week, when she stopped by to pick Katie up, since it had apparently been agreed upon by someone that Katie would ride to school with Sarah this year, now that they were Seniors.<p>

He wasn't supposed to say anything about it the following month, either, the Karate forms that still sat unsigned on the kitchen counter, and he wasn't supposed to say anything about it, apparently, the new witches he hung from the trees in their yard, and the giant spiders Abbey made, he had no idea how – which they strung up along the porch – and the mummy she'd made for the hall way, using Mrs. Dubois for a model, he thought with a smirk, just judging from how stacked the mummy chick was.

He wasn't supposed to say anything about it either, apparently, the Thanksgiving feast that Beth was planning – after she returned from Scandinavia, or South America, or Sumatra – and he wasn't supposed to speculate about it with the kids, apparently – judging from April's stern scowl – whether Beth was a smuggler or a spy, and he wasn't supposed to say anything about it, the drum set April had gotten Eric for his birthday, even after she'd been squawking at him for months about not getting Eric said drum set, as if it would be less "harmful to his hearing" if she got it for him instead.

He wasn't supposed to say it, either, apparently, that he hadn't remembered agreeing to it at all, on the chilly December afternoon when they went to look for it, the used car that would be Katie's Christmas present, as if that wasn't spoiling, either.

"I love it," Katie shrieked, running up to it before he'd even gotten his jacket zipped against the brisk wind, and it met him immediately, April's quick nod, and it just completely baffled him, all of it.

"It's a convertible," he noted, peering closely at the pink Volkswagen Beetle.

"It's so cute," April agreed, nodding happily to Katie.

"It's completely impractical," Alex snarked, earning scowls from both of them. "In Seattle's weather," he added, smirking at April.

"It's in great shape," Katie pointed out. "It gets great mileage, too."

"You hate convertibles," Alex reminded her, snickering again.

"Not this one," she huffed, crossing her arms on her chest and looking expectantly at April.

"It has a good safety record," April agreed, paging through the car review magazine she'd bought the month before. "And it's reliable," she added, running her finger down the long list of statistics and facts and figures, while Alex poked at the tires and searched underneath for rust spots.

"It's not a screaming toddler," April pointed out, dropping down beside him as he continued his exam.

"You sure you don't want to look around?" Alex asked skeptically. It wasn't that it wasn't a good car, he thought, looking it over more closely. It was just that it was… pink… and… girly… and a convertible… and nothing like what he would've imagined her wanting.

"I love it," she whispered, running her hand over its curvy tire wells again. "I want it," she added more forcefully, peering seriously at him.

"Let's get it," April agreed happily, and the two of them were off to find the salesman, before they even asked anything more about it, about its tires or its engine or how well the roof worked, about whether the brakes worked or whether its transmission fluid was up to date or whether it needed a new oil filter or even if it came with a full tank of gas.

It was over before he knew it, though, the forms were signed and the temporary license plates were installed and Katie was clutching the keys in her hand, and he just stood quietly watching it – as she jumped in and started it up – and it just wouldn't settle, the churning in his stomach, and it just wouldn't quite quiet, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, and it was all too familiar – since he'd been left behind more times than he could count – and it was the only thing he heard from April as she settled into the seat beside him before they drove home by themselves, her excited, chirpy pronouncement that "she loves it."

* * *

><p>It woke her at 3:00 am a few days later, again, and again a week later, and it was driving her crazy, that he wouldn't talk about it. She just sighed quietly, running her fingers through her unruly hair as she glanced at the empty spot beside her in their bed, and it figured, she grumbled as she trudged down the steps and into the kitchen, that it was already in the sink, a chocolate smeared plastic dinosaur bowl.<p>

Of course it was, April muttered, as she dug into the freezer and pulled the lid off the frozen yogurt container, and of course it was there, she noticed, rolling her eyes – the chasm between the vanilla and the strawberry. It wasn't like he couldn't read it, the label on the box that clearly said Neapolitan, and it wasn't like she hadn't mentioned it to him a million times, that the whole point to having three flavors in the package was to actually eat all three flavors, and she could hear it already, the grumbling denials, and she just didn't want to listen to it, that pink was girly and vanilla was Winston's favorite.

She filled her own bowl with strawberry, and went down the steps to the den, dropping onto the couch beside him. He was already asleep, she noticed, and she just smirked at it, the routine that Pecans had worked out for it, since she'd just perch above him while he ate his frozen yogurt, and she'd just creep closer as he grew sleepier, and she'd crawl onto him as he was just dozing off, kneading his stomach until she found just the right spot, and she'd sprawl across him as he dozed, and he'd deny all of it when he woke up again, that Pecans had Tuna treats on her breath, that vanilla streaked the dog's bowls, that Winston had cheese doodle crumbs on his muzzle, again, as he sprawled beside the fire.

He'd deny all of it, because he wasn't a pet person, he insisted, and it was her freaking zoo, he'd remind her, as Pancakes toddled eagerly after him when he went off to do his raking or his shoveling, and it was probably just as well that he wasn't awake at the moment, she imagined, since she didn't want to have the frozen yogurt discussion again, either, and it wasn't like he'd talk about it, anyway, about how it all worried him, Katie having a car, and Katie receiving college applications in the mail, and Katie making her own decisions, since it wasn't like he trusted her, even if she was turning it all around.

It drove April crazy, and she just grabbed the remote from the coffee table, since she didn't want to see it, either – the latest documentary evidence that space aliens had built the White House, and possibly the Empire State building, and she just switched to the next channel, and of course it would be the Travel Station, and of course it would be someplace Beth had been to recently – Columbia or Cambodia or China – someplace she'd bring pictures back from, to show off at her annual Christmas feast, the one she could pull together flawlessly, even from halfway around the world.

She moved onto the next channel, and of course it was some home shopping network, since it was a week before Christmas, and she just smirked as she glanced over at the mountain of presents already under the tree. Of course there were, because Alex had already taken Katie's getting a used car as a blanket excuse to spoil Abbey and Eric even more than usual. She'd already seen some of it, the science kit he'd gotten for Eric, and the new drafting software for his computer – as if he needed a professional architectural design program to plan out his Lego models.

She'd already seen it, too, the filtering lenses he'd bought for Abbey – surely the exact ones she wanted – as if an amateur photographer working for a high school newspaper, and assisting a world traveling pro on the side, needed colorizing telephoto lenses that could capture high definition photos with less than 30 % ambient light within a half mile radius, at least, according to what the box said.

She'd seen it all before, and she giggled at the next channel, Animal Planet, since they were running a documentary about giraffes, and she could just imagine it, what he'd come up with for her this year, since it was always something – the talking giraffe cookie jar, which she'd finally had to have Eric disable, since it was waking everyone at 3:00 am, on the nights Alex couldn't sleep, the giraffe lamp with the bendable neck for when she was reading her "chick books," as if nothing said love or romance quite like a glasses-wearing giraffe holding a dictionary, the fancy set of giraffe handle chees knives, as if she'd ever host a holiday party or a family gathering anything like the elaborate feasts Beth pulled off so effortlessly.

He'd gotten Beth in on it, anyway, she reminded herself with a giggle – and it had been giraffe earrings from Senegal a few years ago, as if a Trauma surgeon would ever wear anything that dangly, and it had been a giraffe vase from Viet Nam before that, as if giraffes even lived in Southeast Asia, and it had been a giraffe shaped planter from Saudi Arab before that, as if he really needed to import more additions to her herd, when really, she'd given up on having a giraffe by the time she was seven anyway.

It was a running joke among her sisters, too, she reminded herself wryly, and she just rolled her eyes as she traced her hand along his back, and it was right where she expected – the mass of tension pooling in the curve of his spine, and the usual knot under his right shoulder blade, because that was always where it settled, whatever it was that he wouldn't talk about when he was up at 3:00 am, plying the pets he didn't want with treats she didn't approve of for them, and digging chasms into the frozen yogurt.

It was all his fault, anyway, she grumbled, as she untangled the first knot – while the perky hostess on the all night shopping show displayed a handbag she'd love – since he was the one who always bought the yogurt, even if she had a hard enough time keeping her jiggly thighs under control, and it was all his fault, she reminded herself, that he always bought the three flavored boxes, even if he only ever ate the chocolate part, as if made any sense at all to give vanilla frozen yogurt to a hefty Corgi anyway, even if it was "his favorite flavor," and "he deserved it" since she made him eat organic weight control kibble.

It was all his fault, too, she insisted, kneading her hand down gently along his spine, and rolling her eyes at his soft sigh, that she was sitting there at 3:00 am, eating strawberry frozen yogurt despite having Aunt Edna's hips, because he wouldn't talk about it – about crazy drivers and colleges across the country and whether she could handle it all – and because a young mother had died on her service that evening, right in front of her terrified children, and because it wouldn't have happened – the kids seeing any of it - if the hospital hadn't cut her department's nursing budget, and because it was something she should have seen coming, if she'd just been paying attention to it.

It wasn't her fault – he'd tell her, if she woke him and told him about it again, for the fifth time– and it was probably just as well, she imagined, as her fingers slowed at the base of his spine, that he was finally sleeping peacefully, and it wasn't, she knew that – her fault – since the woman was too far gone, and the accident had been too horrific, and the ER had been too chaotic, no matter how many nurses they had – and it was just one of those things she couldn't have done anything about, no matter how many staffing charts she wrote up, or how well she organized the supply closets.

It was just one of those freak things, she reminded herself – a stray patch of ice, a split second of driver inattention – and it had been keeping him up, too, she reminded herself, even if he wouldn't talk about it – and they could lecture Katie about it until she was thirty, but they'd just have to trust her with it, the cute little Beetle she'd picked. They'd just have to trust her with all of it, she reminded herself, smirking as another deep sigh escaped him, as her fingers continued their work – the college applications and the grades she'd get and the choices she'd make, even if it kept them up at night.

* * *

><p>It came on a frigid morning in late January, Katie's first invitation for an on-campus college interview, and of course it would be in freaking California – where it was probably seventy degrees and sunny, where it was all surfing and sand volley ball and beach parties after class, where it would make perfect sense to have a little pink convertible – over four hundred miles away.<p>

Not that it would be easy for her, since it was already coming back to bite her – the classes she blew off and the activities she dropped and the snarky attitude, which always got her the "she's smart, but-" on her recommendation letters. It wasn't like they hadn't warned her over and over – the guidance counselors and the teachers and even the high school principal, since of course she spent way more time in his office than any kid should have, and he wondered just how she'd thought it would look on her record, that she probably spent more time in detention then she did actually learning anything.

He wasn't supposed to say anything about it, though – April had made that clear to him, again – and he just rolled his eyes as he listened to them discussing it while he ate his pancakes, Katie grousing about how unfair it was – as if that was news, that life wasn't freaking fair – while April tried to reassure her and Eric snarked on her and Abbey peeped up to inquire if she was taking her car with her to college.

It was starting all over again, too, he noticed, since Abbey was already talking about – her own driving lessons – and it was just making his head throb and his chest tighten – and he just didn't want to think about it, about how fast it was all moving, and April was going to hear about it later at work whether she wanted to or not, about how he had no intention of throwing away thousands of dollars on college if she wasn't even going to take it seriously.

He didn't want to hear it from the staff in the NICU, either, later that morning, about how the budget cuts were affecting their work, as if he could do anything about it, as if the whole thing hadn't sucked when the Chief laid it out for him – that he could cut staffing, or he could cut pro bono surgeries for poor kids, since they couldn't afford to do it all. It wasn't like it didn't suck, that it was either cut the nurses who rocked the terrified infants to sleep at 3:00 am, or it was eliminate the surgeries and just let some kids go without it, any of the care they needed – and it sucked either way, but they could just file it under life wasn't fucking fair and get on with it, doing what they could, since it wasn't like they could print money, and it wasn't like it wasn't freaking expensive, however they did it.

It pissed him off, really, and they could try to make it out like he was the bad guy all they wanted – the hospital administrators – and they could try to blame it all on him, the nurses, that he wasn't doing enough, that it was all his fault, that it was his decision that left frightened babies alone in their cribs, while strange shadows crept along the cold polished floors, and scary monitors beeped and squealed. He'd heard it all before, though, about how it was all on him – even when he couldn't do a fucking thing about it – and he'd heard it all before – about how it was cold and heartless and about how it was his responsibility to fix it all, as if he was some kind of fucking knight in shining armor, who could just wave his freaking sword and decree that life would become fucking fair on his watch.

It didn't work that way, he grumbled under his breath, and he just snarked and snarled when the nurses and the other Attendings demanded answers from him, since it wasn't like there was anything to say, and it wasn't like they didn't know it full well themselves – that the hospital just couldn't afford it, to do everything, even if it wanted to – and it wasn't like it made anyone's job easier, complaining about it all the time, and it wasn't like they weren't doing the best they could, even if it never seemed to be enough for anyone, since it was always there – the veiled hint that they could do it better, his whole fucking job, as if he'd even fucking asked to be an acting department head again in the first place.

It pissed him off, and it soured his stomach as he scowled at his lunch plate, and it set his nerves on edge, when April plopped her tray down beside his – chattering about Katie's interviews and Eric's summer Science Camp program and Abbey's hints about a car – and he just didn't want to hear it, about when the deposit check was due, if Katie was just going to get C's and D's at the college of her choice, and blow it all over again – every opportunity she'd been handed – while he was on the hook for deciding it, which babies would have any shot at it, at any life at all, when you got right down to it.

It drove him crazy, but it wasn't like he could reason with her about it, and it wasn't like April could even see it – that Katie was still Katie, even if she was talking about it as if she was finally taking it seriously, her whole freaking future. He just nodded and chewed, since he was too tired to fight about it, and it was all going to blow up in their faces, he was sure – since it always fucking did, eventually – and he just slurped his soda as she pulled out the latest glossy brochure, from a school in Oregon, and he just smiled when she kissed him, as she gathered her tray and ran off to her next meeting.

It was pointless, anyway, he reminded himself, as he watched her breeze happily out of the cafeteria, because it just addled his mind, the way her hair spilled around her shoulders, and it just caught any words that might come in his throat, the way she talked about the future, as if what she dreamed about might actually happen, and it just slapped a vice around his chest, the way she expected the best from everyone, even after they disappointed her, and it was pointless, he reminded himself as he gathered his own tray, because he'd buy the three colored frozen yogurt just because pink was her favorite flavor, and he'd scour the globe for freaking giraffe stuff, just because she loved it, and he'd be writing that check by eight that evening, since all it would take would be one of those looks from her, anyway, one of those looks that swore it would all work out, whether he believed it or not.

* * *

><p>She found it while doing laundry, on February 3rd, a blustery Saturday. It fell from the sweatshirt pocket, and it stopped her cold, and it flashed her right back to the cookie jar at Meredith's house, and it would have prompted a shriek if she could possibly breathe, the neatly wrapped condom in her hand.<p>

It made her heart race and her throat clench and her blood boil, and it made her legs shake as she scaled the stairs, and it had her sputtering and red faced as she burst into Katie's room, and it left her gasping and speechless as she held it out in front of her, as Katie looked up casually from where she lay sprawled on her bed, sifting through photos to include in her interview portfolios.

"Care to explain it?" April demanded, shaking the sweatshirt in her other hand and glaring at her.

"Seriously?" Katie smirked. "You don't know what it is?"

And it figured, of course it did, because they all had that smirk, and they all had that twisted humor of his, and they all got it from him.

"I found it in here," April snapped, grasping the sweatshirt more fiercely. Of course she did, because they'd all gotten it from him, too, apparently, the whole casual sex thing, and they'd all have to talk about it together, since it was probably Abbey's turn next, and even sweet, innocent little Eric looked so much like Alex already, that, well… well… it was just a matter of time.

"It's not a joke," April snapped at her, because it was the last thing Katie needed, more complications, and she could already hear it – the baby she'd no doubt end up with, as a high school senior – and it had all been going so well, her grades and her applications and the interviews she had coming up, and now she was going to throw it all away, just because she couldn't wait to do it until she was old enough to do it responsibly.

"It's Abby's sweatshirt," Katie snorted, rolling her eyes. "She's doing it. Not me."

"It's not yours?" April stammered, her legs going all wobbly again and her head spinning. She could imagine it, really, Katie doing it – since Katie was stacked like Dani, and Katie was fierce and independent and cavalier and fearless, like Beth, and Katie didn't plan things out, like Abbey, and Katie wasn't girly and romantic, like Abbey, and Katie had always just snorted at the whole Princess fairy tale thing, unlike Abbey, who still had her glittery, gauzy Fairy Tale Princess Barbie up on the shelf in her room – and Katie was freaking older, anyway – and it all just made her dizzy and nauseous.

"It's not yours?" April repeated, fighting desperately to calm her voice and her breathing, and it was all her worst nightmare, since she should have talked with them about it more, she thought wildly, and she should have seen this coming, since it wasn't like she hadn't been surrounded by it herself in high school, and med school – and at the hospital, where people did it casually in on call rooms, as if they were just brushing their teeth – and even in the morgue, apparently, if you believed the rumors.

She should've seen it coming, she reminded herself, as Katie scowled up at her as if she'd lost her mind, and she had – she'd seen herself stammering and red faced as she'd tried to explain it to them – and she'd seen herself cringing as she admitted it, that she'd waited until she was thirty, that it had been a disaster anyway, that it was nothing like it was supposed to be, that they should wait for it until they were thirty, too, maybe even forty, since maybe that was it, maybe she hadn't waited long enough, either, when you got right down to it.

"Mom," Katie said, rolling her eyes as she motioned to the files covering her bed. "I need to get ready for this," she said impatiently, already turning back to her sorting.

"Then you're not-" April stammered, almost cringing, and she almost didn't want to know about it for sure, whether Katie was doing it, too, since really, it was all just too much already.

"No, I'm not," Katie insisted, rolling her eyes again.

"Right," April nodded, exhaling heavily as she moved toward the stairs. It would be another two hours, she remembered, before Abbey got home, since she was off with her photography club practicing snow shots. If she wasn't off doing with it some guy they'd never met, April reminded herself sourly, as she pushed open Abbey's door, on a ski lift, or a snow mobile, or while skating around the local ice rink.

It would be just like that, too, April imagined wildly, since she'd probably already told Beth all about it, and for Beth it was all about the adventure, about doing it in new and unusual places – with the male models she photographed in Denmark or that banker in Dubai or the diplomat in Dresden, the year she covered Oktoberfest. Of course she'd go to Beth about it, April grumbled, because Beth was fun and adventurous and matter of fact, and Beth wouldn't sputter or stammer or turn red faced when she talked about it, the same way she talked about magazine layouts and travel plans and the food in Spain.

Dani probably knew, too, April imagined, because Dani was stacked and flirty and lived in New York and did it on the roof of the Empire State building once, and her and Beth talked about it all the time, as if it was a sport or a hobby or a way to kill time between shopping sprees on Madison Avenue and flights to France. Jenny knew, too, then, which meant Cari knew by default, and she could just imagine the advice Abbey was getting, about doing it with older guys, or doing it with leather, or doing it under water, or doing it in a way that made them beg, as if it was a game or a power trip or a toy to play with, or just what you did to keep your hands busy at parties, so you wouldn't dig into the high carb nacho dip.

She could just imagine it burning up the grape vine, and she couldn't quite believe it, that they all knew about it – that even Katie knew about it – and she hadn't seen it coming at all, and it was all Alex's fault, too she insisted, glancing around Abbey's room again, since it wasn't like any father in his right mind would tote a child to an antique shop, and bring home a busty, headless French hussy to give her ideas, since it wasn't like Mrs. DuBois wouldn't already know about it, too, since everyone else did but her, apparently.

"Mom?" Abbey asked, stopping abruptly as she breezed into her room, placing her photo bag on her desk as she glanced back at April quizzically.

"I found this," April stammered, holding the condom up and watching Abbey closely.

"Oh, yeah," Abbey said, shrugging off her jacket. "I had extra."

"You had extra?" April repeated blankly, and it still wasn't computing, even after she'd calmed down, and it was starting again, that dizzy, nauseous feeling, and Abbey was being entirely too casual about it, and it wasn't just a casual thing no matter what Beth or Cari or Dani or Jenny or Katie or Mrs. DuBois or whoever the hell else she'd talked to said about it.

"Mom," Abbey sighed, opening her camera bag. "I know you said to wait," she noted, scanning through the photos on her memory card. "But I didn't," she shrugged, popping the card into her computer and firing up her new software program. "I was careful," she added, pointing to the condom April still held.

"That wasn't the point," April snapped, glaring back at her again. And it wasn't, because they'd talked about it, safe sex, and they'd talked about it, pregnancy prevention, and they'd talked about it at school, too, about condoms and test kits and what goes where and how babies develop and it wasn't like she hadn't heard it all a million times, and it wasn't like she was reckless or stupid or rebellious, and it wasn't like she was even serious with anyone – and it wasn't like she was freaking old enough, April reminded herself fiercely – and it wasn't like this made any sense at all.

"I know," Abbey agreed, sorting her photos into files as April watched baffled. "It wasn't even that great," she added wryly, as if she was talking about a disappointing hot fudge sundae.

"That wasn't the point, either," April retorted, and it wasn't. She wasn't sure what the point was at the moment, though, because it had all been covered before, and it wasn't like she was an expert on first times, and that was the last thing she wanted to remember at the moment – as if being an inadvertent dirty mistress wasn't worse than having a bland sundae, when you got right down to it.

"There's not much else to say about it," Abbey shrugged again. "I got it over with, I guess."

"That's why you did it?" April stammered. "To get it over with? Because other kids were doing it?" It was making her face redden, because it was high school all over again, or med school, and it was the teasing from her sisters and the taunting from her anatomy study partners and it reminded her that she never had told Katie or Abbey about it, about how she'd been almost twice their age when she'd done it the first time, and that she still hadn't been ready for it, really, when you got right down to it.

"No," Abbey muttered, shaking her head. "I just, I wanted to try it," she admitted wryly.

It was making her dizzy and nauseous again, the words she was hearing, and she just couldn't imagine it, doing it just to try it, and it never would have occurred to her – since she'd been terrified of it for nearly the first thirty years of her life, and she wondered, really, if Abbey wasn't better off, since at least she wouldn't have to worry about it, or dream about it, or agonize over it, or wonder about it, or hear about it – what it would be like the first time – since she was fairly sure it was over rated, anyway, the first time, no matter how you did it, and it wasn't like it ever went as planned, anyway.

"Dad was right," Abbey added quietly, nodding matter of fact.

"Dad knows too?" April demanded, her eyes widening.

"No!" Abbey scowled. "Of course not," she insisted, shaking her head. "But he said it's better if you wait."

"He did?" April asked, baffled again. "You talked to him about it?" she asked. Of course, she had, since apparently she'd talked with everyone about it…. everyone except her mother.

"Yeah," Abbey shrugged, as if it was perfectly obvious. "He said it's cool and all, you know," she shrugged again, "but it's better if it's the right person. You know, if it's someone special."

"He said that?" April asked again.

"Yeah," Abbey added more forcefully, nodding at April as if she was developing a hearing problem.

"Don't tell him, mom, please," Abbey added, looking at her more seriously. "He didn't threaten me or anything," she added. "But I think he'd be… disappointed," she sighed, knotting her fingers together. "Like you are," she added glumly.

"I am… disappointed," April agreed, after a long, uncomfortable silence. "I hoped you'd-"

"Wait until I was married?" Abbey filled in wryly, rolling her eyes.

"No," April corrected sternly. "I hoped you'd wait until you were… until you were ready, until you found the right person." The words came out all awkward and twisted, and she almost tripped over them as she rose from the bed, because really, it wasn't like that at all for most people, anyway, just judging from the on call rooms and the morgue and the airplane bathrooms and wherever else they did it.

"Did you?" Abbey asked, "your first time?"

"Dad didn't tell you?" April grimaced, and she could just imagine it, the laughs they'd all had about it, the kids in high school and her study partners in med school and the nurses on the hospital grapevine and her sisters on the phone and she could just imagine it, Alex's snarking as he broke it to the girls, that they'd be getting their high school sex education from a freaking ex-thirty year old virgin.

"He just said he got lucky," she replied, rolling her eyes at April's red faced, horrified expression. "You know," Abbey added, rolling her eyes again, "found the right person and all. Eventually."

"Oh, yeah, of course," April nodded, exhaling heavily. She should say something more about it, she was sure. She should lecture Abbey about making better choices, or ground her until she was thirty five; she should tell her she'd made a horrible mistake, or threaten to tell Alex, or insist that she never leave the house again unsupervised, or remind her how dangerous it all was, to treat it too casually.

She should warn her about it, too, about how Beth had it all wrong, her and her ever packed suitcase, about how Cari had it all wrong, too, her and her social climbing, about how Dani had it all wrong, too, since it wasn't all that impressive to do it on the Empire State building when you weren't even sure who else Neil had done it with that week, about how Jenny had it all wrong, too, Jenny and her quest for the Perfect Man, as if that ever happened for anyone except Fairy Princess Barbie, and maybe Mrs. DuBois, since they all liked it high and tight and curvy and busty, apparently.

"Mom?" Abbey prodded, eying her nervously.

She should tell her all about it, April imagined, that doing it too soon was a mistake, and waiting for it too long was a mistake, and that it was hard to get it right, when you got right down to it. She should tell her all about it, April imagined, that it was bad to be too casual about it, and that it was bad to be too scared of it, and that it never went as planned – no matter how you did it.

"Mom?" Abbey prodded again, frowning nervously. "Are you having a stroke or something?"

April almost smirked as she shook her head, rising unsteadily from her seat on Abbey's bed as her eyes wandered around the room again. It was still all there, the antique writing desk and the old fashioned hurricane lamp – another gift from Alex which had been entirely inappropriate for a girl her age – the gauzy lace curtains and the Victorian wall paper and the romantic window seat overlooking the yard, the floral paintings and the delicate photos she'd framed and the crystal vase on her bedside table.

She should tell her all about it, April imagined, as her heart still pounded wildly, but it wasn't anything like she'd heard about it from other people, anyway, and it wasn't like she was exactly an expert at it, and it wasn't like she could undo it, any of it, and at least Abbey wasn't afraid of it – she thought wryly – and at least it wouldn't make her a laughing stock, since at least it wasn't like she'd wait another fifteen years for it – wondering about it and worrying about it and agonizing over it and imagining it – only for it to happen in a dank on-call room, with a guy who should've been doing it with his freaking wife.

She could tell her all of that, April imagined, but it just wouldn't come – her voice – and it just wouldn't compute, what she'd just learned, and it wasn't like she had any words of wisdom about it, since, really, it wasn't like she could even imagine it – what it might have been like, if she'd done it at Abbey's age – and it all just curdled in her throat as she walked hesitantly toward the door.

"Mom," Abbey called again. "Just so you know: Dad's planning another surprise for Valentine's Day. "You'll probably want to get a rain hat," she warned, trying not to giggle, "and some hand sanitizer."

"You know what it is," April noted, frowning seriously at her, because of course she did, since everyone knew what was going on in her family except her, apparently, and of course Alex would tell Abbey – since he told her everything, apparently, and of course it would involve rain gear, since nothing said love like chilly rain and puddles of mud, and nothing said romance like three squabbling kids and hand sanitizer.

"Wear old clothes," Abbey smiled, giggling as she returned to her work.

"Figures," April muttered, though to be fair, that was always good advice when Alex was plotting – planning, she corrected immediately, planning – a Valentine's Day surprise for her.

* * *

><p>He didn't get it at all, whatever it was that that set Katie and Abbey and Eric off giggling as he eagerly handed the crinkling package to April at breakfast that morning, because it was right on time – February 14th on the dot – and it was completely wrapped, and it was still freaking winter, and she liked the snow man wrapping paper from Christmas the best, anyway – and it wasn't his fault that Eric had dripped maple syrup on it, and it wasn't like it hadn't just gotten on the paper anyway, and hadn't even touched the leather.<p>

He was sure she'd like it, too, he reminded himself smugly, because he'd seen her drooling over it on that crazy all night shopping station, and it wasn't like they made a giraffe shaped bag – he'd checked with the company - so she couldn't be disappointed over it, and it wasn't like Abbey hadn't helped him pick out the color, assuring him that even Mrs. DuBois would love it, and it wasn't like she hadn't shrieked as she tore off the wrapping and thrown her arms around him after she opened it, even if she'd had to wipe it away first, the maple syrup on his cheek, before she kissed him, repeating happily that she loved it.

He didn't get it either, later that evening, why she was dressed for a freaking monsoon – when it was a crystal clear evening, and the basketball game was in doors anyway – and he just didn't get it, why Abbey was still giggling, as they watched her carefully wrapping the hand sanitizer in a baggie before placing it in her new bag, and he just didn't get it, why April was acting so weird, but he just chalked it up to it being Valentine's Day, and to chicks being crazy in general, when you got right down to it.

He didn't get it the following month, either, when Amber called out of the blue from California, and it was stilted and awkward when she asked about it, about Aaron and the kids and stuff in general, and it was good, he repeated, at least eight times, that she was a nurse practitioner now, and still in LA, and had a three year old son, and a small condo, and the beat on an up-coming promotion.

It was the last thing he expected, really, on a chilly March evening, to hear from her again, but it was over before he knew it, the conversation, and it took him longer to answer April's questions about it then the whole phone call itself had been, and he just shrugged for the most part, because it wasn't like he could explain it, what she'd wanted from it, since he was still Alex her loser brother, and she was still Amber the angry sister, and it wasn't like there was any more to it than that.

It stayed on April's radar screen longer than he wanted, of course it did, and he was sure he'd hear more about it, but it blended into the background the following week, as Katie went off on her college visits, and Abbey lobbied harder for driving lessons, and Eric dragged them to the Science Expo at the city center, and he just rolled his eyes at it, April's disapproving glances as he and Eric started setting up the model volcano kit they'd bought at the expo, the one that produced actual explosions, if you did it right.

He wasn't even sure about it at that point, if the glances were about the volcano, or about his helping Abbey with her permit test, or about it being his turn to call Amber – as if they had some kind of freaking routine, as if she even expected that from him after all these years, as if Amber expected anything from him, really – and it just all jumbled into another flood of paper work, and another round of budget wrangling, and another demand from the Chief that he do something about the new NICU Attending that was being bitchy to the nurses, as if anyone who pissed off the nurses lasted long on the NICU anyway.

It spilled over into the next month, anyway, and it finally came on April, 17th, the acceptance Katie had been waiting for, from the only school left on her list that she even had a shot at. She was the last one of her friends to hear from it, and it was provisional – her acceptance, the letter stressed sternly – since there were several red flags on her record. They didn't know the half of it, Alex smirked, as he read the conditions – about keeping up her grades, and attending her classes, and contributing to the school's Photography and Art programs – and he just shook his head as he looked at the price tag.

April didn't even notice it, though, Alex was sure – watching as she chattered excitedly with Abbey and Katie about it – and it was all about what the dorms would be like, and how she could be roommates with Sarah, who was going there too – of course she was, he thought with a sigh, since they always came as a set, like Mere and Yang had – and how exciting it would be to be in sunny California, and what the beaches would be like, and he didn't want to hear it at all – about how cute all the guys would be – and he could already imagine it, blowing a hundred grand on it before she decided to run away to be a flower arranger or a circus clown or a hair dresser instead, as if it made all the sense in the world.

He wasn't supposed to say it, though – April reminded him again later that week – about how it was too far away and she was moving too fast, and he wasn't supposed to say it the next month either, as Katie modeled her high school cap and gown and her new University of California at Riverside sweatshirt, and he just ignored it, April's smirking, silent 'I told you' s, as Katie proudly displayed her final grades, and he just laughed right along with Eric as they set it off at Katie's graduation party in the backyard, the volcano that really said it all, when you got right down to it.


	18. Chapter 18

It was what she'd always wanted, she reminded herself, as she watched Katie and Abbey breeze out the door together, piling into the pink Beetle as they chattered excitedly about working with Beth on her new photo shot – and meeting the models – and helping her plan out her latest magazine layouts, and learning how to use some new software program that would improve their balance and their tinting and their composition and whatever else it was that supposedly made Beth a photo artist.

It was what she'd always wanted, she reminded herself as she wistfully stirred her coffee, because the girls were still squabbling over clothes and hair styles and trips to the mall, but they were also going to movies together, and sharing picture taking techniques, and it was almost like they were actual sisters sometimes, even if Abbey still snarked on Katie's fashion sense, and Katie still snarked on Abbey's nerdy friends, and they both teased Eric until he was red faced and sputtering about the new red headed girl that had moved in down the street two months before, and had been dropping by regularly.

It was what she'd always wanted, because Katie would go off to college in the Fall, and Abbey would be the Editor of the high school paper that year, and president of her Fashion club, and it was all starting to fall into place, even if she was half sure she'd lost her mind completely when she finally agreed to it, signing the freaking forms so that Eric could take Karate lessons that summer.

She could see it all in her mind, too, broken bones, traction, possible blood transfusions, and she could already imagine it, Eric in a full body cast while word spread like wild fire throughout the hospital, that she hadn't done anything to prevent it, and she could already hear it, the chattering from her sisters, about how she shouldn't have caved in on it, about how it might involve legal liability or permanent ligament damage, about how it was really taught in China or Cambodia, about how it wasn't even a real sport like basketball, about how she should've put her foot down about it permanently.

It drove her crazy, really, all the parenting advice she got from her sisters – none of whom could keep a cactus alive for more than a week, she grumbled under her breath, as she slightly misted Eric's prized plant, won at a long ago carnival – and it wasn't like she could help it, since Eric was too slow to be a basketball player and Alex was too competitive to settle for anything less than some sports trophies and none of them were going to China or Cambodia no matter how much Beth liked the food there.

It drove her crazy, really, their meddling, she insisted to the cactus as she checked the mineral content of its special soil, and it wasn't like she could do anything about it, anyway, that the girls found it much more exciting to trail Beth around while she photographed scantily clad, muscle bound male models than they did to visit the hospital, where people actually saved lives.

It wasn't her fault, either, she muttered to Pancakes and Pecans as she doled out some organic treats – the kind that removed tartar buildup from their teeth, she pointed out to them, not the kind that left Winston with the orange crumbs around his muzzle – if the girls talked to Beth about doing it, even if it wasn't in Ecuador or England or El Salvador – since it wasn't like Abbey hadn't already done it anyway, and it wasn't like Katie wasn't probably thinking about it, too, what with all those male models, and the guys she'd meet in college, on the campus where people only wore bathing to suits to class anyway, at least, as far as she could tell from the last time they'd gone to visit it.

That was just how it was in college, April reminded herself with a frown, at least – for everyone but her – and it wasn't like she wanted Katie to hear it, too, all the taunting and teasing about how she wasn't doing it, about how she was afraid to do it, about how she'd never do it at the rate she was going, about how everyone was doing it but her, even her younger sisters, about how it was about time she did it, even if it was with a drunken frat guy who wouldn't even remember it.

She remembered it all vividly and she scowled again as she surveyed it, the college brochure Katie had left on the counter, and it was all there all over again – bright, shining faces, eager to do it, no doubt – and she wondered what Abbey had told her about it, and if Katie knew enough about it, about how not to get pregnant, about how it could seriously derail whatever plans she might have, about how it could seem so right yet turn out so wrong, the first time you did it, even if it didn't involve being an accidental dirty mistress.

It wasn't like she could mention that, though, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she wanted to make Katie scared about it, and it wasn't like she wanted to be her own mother – who basically just said don't do it, as if she was talking about robbing a bank or committing murder for hire – and it wasn't like she wanted to give the girls complexes about it, or make it more of a big deal than it was. It wasn't a casual thing either, though, she insisted – at least, it wasn't to her – even if it would be to the kids Katie was about to meet, the kids who'd do it in the library and the cafeteria and the stairwells and the class rooms and even in the Chemistry labs, while other people were just trying to finish their work, she noted sourly, grimacing as she recalled the first time she'd walked in on it, her Freshman year.

She was ready for it, though, April insisted the next day as she went off for work, and it would leave her more time – the kids getting older and more independent – it would give her the time to implement it, her new plan for trauma triage, and it would give her more time to prepare for it, the drills the new interns would need to complete for their certifications in Emergency Medicine, and it would give her more time to meet with it, the Board, and to deal with the staffing shortfalls that had been plaguing the hospital for months.

She was ready for it, April insisted again, shoving her things in her office as she grabbed her lab coat. She'd worked too hard for it, her college acceptance – no matter what Alex muttered under his breath about tuition and textbooks and the ten thousand miles away that it was, as if wasn't only a day's drive – and he'd just have to get used to it, that she was growing up and becoming more independent and making her own decisions, and he'd just have to accept it, April thought with a smirk, that she'd been right about it all along, all of it, and that they could provide as much alleged footage of it as they wanted – the SciFi channel – but the fake Martians didn't build the Pyramids in Egypt no matter how big their boobs were.

* * *

><p>It came at 11:37 p.m. on June 17th, a warm breezy evening, just after he'd finished his chocolate frozen yogurt, and put Winston's vanilla in his bowl. It was Katie's voice on the phone, except it wasn't her at all, it was shaky and terrifed and if he didn't know better he'd swear that she'd been crying, and it just went stone cold – his blood – when he heard it, the halting words, something about "accident" and "hospital" and it was still ringing in his ears as he grabbed his keys and ran for the door.<p>

She was still alive, she had to be, he reminded himself, since it was her on the phone, and it was all a blur, the traffic lights and the blinking signs down town, the sirens as he neared the hospital, the glare of the polished floor in the Emergency Room, and it was all coursing through his veins and throbbing in his ears and draining the feeling from his limbs until he heard it, the strangled "dad" that preceded it, Katie's vice like grip, as she threw her arms around him, squeezing so tight he was half sure it was all going to come right back up again, the Frozen yogurt he'd eaten less than an hour before.

That was definitely it, he insisted, the churning in his stomach – it was the frozen yogurt, it had to be – and it just wasn't computing, that Katie was clinging and trembling and sniffling and hiding her face in his chest, and it just wasn't registering – if she was actually saying anything – since his pulse was still pounding in his ears and his head was still spinning and it was hot as a hell and he was fairly sure it was going to collapse, his entire rib cage, if she squeezed him any tighter, and it would make an even bigger mess on April's pristine floors, he thought wildly, if all his ribs came back up with the frozen yogurt.

"It's my fault," she stammered, in more strangled gasps, and he still wasn't clear what it was at all, exactly, since she was up right and not bleeding and vocal, sort of, and still strong as a horse – just judging from her vice like grip.

"She's with mom," Katie added, struggling to catch her panicky breath, and it took him a moment to realize that "she" must have meant Sarah, since Abbey was home with Eric, and April was at work, and it wasn't like they hadn't lectured Katie a million times – well, it wasn't like one of them hadn't lectured Katie a million times, about using seat belts and keeping safe stopping distances and not texting while driving and not playing her music too loud and looking both ways and basically paying attention while doing it, driving the little pink Beetle car she'd fallen in love with the first moment she saw it.

He wanted to ask about it, too, about what had happened to it, or with it, or in it. But no syllables would form into words and he just couldn't do it, get his lips to cooperate with his brain, and it was all still swimming in his head, letters and spaces and whatever the hell else it was that April was always squawking at him that he needed to be better at and it just all lodged in his throat, right on top of the yogurt that he still wasn't at all sure wouldn't tumble out instead, if he tried to open his mouth.

"She's hurt, dad" Katie stuttered out, chocking back sobs, and it still wasn't figuring, if the she that she was talking about was Sarah, since she always called her car a "she" – and he'd been around enough nurses to know that that was chick speak for their cars, but not around them enough to know how to translate in this specific instance – and it didn't really make sense, exactly, that April would be working on Katie's car, since April was the go to chick in Trauma and all but could barely remember to have her tires rotated or her transmission fluid checked, but it wasn't like things hadn't stopped making sense entirely the moment he'd picked up that phone.

"It's my fault," she insisted, shaking again, and he was still trying to put it all together, and he was supposed to say something about it, he was sure, about how it would all be all right or about how April was doing everything she could or about how it wasn't like Katie had meant it – whatever it was – or that it had just been an accident, since that was all he had to go on, but it still wouldn't form into words, the tornado in his brain, and he wasn't even sure about it, exactly, if she was the only one trembling.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated, over and over, and it was the only thing she could say, he imagined, and it just poured out of her, again and again, in chocking sobs, and it still wasn't computing at all – what it was, exactly, that she was sorry for, since it wasn't like anyone was freaking updating them about it – and it was still making him vaguely nauseous, her death grip around his midsection, as she burrowed into his chest, and it was all still draining the feeling from his arms as they stayed steeled around her.

"Yeah, I know," he whispered quietly, when it finally stopped hammering in his head, his heartbeat.

* * *

><p>"Sarah is fine," April assured them moments later, rushing toward them as she pulled off her gloves.<p>

She had a concussion, and she'd need stitches in her forehead and a cast on her ankle for a few weeks. But she'd be fine. She repeated that more times than she could count, as she led Katie to sit with Sarah while she waited for an Ortho resident, and she repeated it to Sarah's frantic parents, and she repeated it to herself as she changed out of her scrubs, and piled out into the car with Katie and Alex.

It was nearly 5 a.m. by then, and she could feel it already, the panic turning to anger, and the anger roiling into rage, and it just made her furious, what the police reported about it – that she hadn't even been paying attention to it, the road, when she'd run off to the side and hit it, the mailbox that was standing smack dab in front of her, as if it wouldn't have been right in front of her, if she'd just kept her eyes on it, the freaking road that was supposed to be her only concern when she was driving it, the little pink Beetle she supposedly loved so much.

She tried to keep a lid on it, too, her boiling point, at least until the next morning, since she'd just worked a double shift – not that she'd planned it – and she'd been up basically all night not that she'd expected it – and it just wouldn't stop shaking, her hand as she tried to grip her tea cup – and she just didn't want to listen to it anymore, about how sorry Katie was about it, since it wasn't like she wasn't just freaking lucky, when you got right down it, and she'd had more of those discussion then she'd ever care to remember - with the parents of the kids who didn't quiet manage it, to be so lucky – and it wasn't like she didn't see it every day - enough to know how easily it could have been them.

She didn't want to hear it from Alex, either, when he called from the car repair shop, about how the insurance adjustors had said it was totaled, and she didn't want to hear it from him at all, about how maybe they could pay to fix it themselves, if she really wanted it, and it wasn't like she wanted to hear it from Beth either, that accidents happen, or from Jenny, that at least Sarah probably wouldn't sue them, or from Cari, that at least it wasn't a compound fracture, or from Dani, that it wasn't like April hadn't driven her parents' own car into the garage door, the first week after she'd gotten her license.

That wasn't the point at all, she snapped back at Dani a few days later, since it wasn't like she hadn't been paying attention when she'd done it, and she just didn't want to hear it from Beth a week later either, about how Katie should join her and Abbey on a photo shoot if she was up to it – as if Beth didn't get it at all, the whole concept behind grounding, and she didn't want it hear from Cari a week after that, either, about how Sarah was young and healthy and healing nicely - as if it might not have been a coffin instead of a cast she was stuck in – and she didn't want to hear it from Jenny, about how first accidents were often forgiven by insurance companies – as if Katie would be driving again anytime soon, and she didn't want to hear it from Alex a week after that, either, that it wouldn't do Katie any good to have them over react to it, as if it was something they could possibly over react to in the first place.

It kept her awake nights just picturing it, and it set her glowering at Abbey when she talked about it – getting her own learners permit soon – and it set her eyes rolling when she saw it in the mail, again, another bill from the storage company Alex had had it towed to, since he still thought it could be fixed – and it set her digging into the strawberry frozen yogurt again – whether it would end up with her having Aunt Edna's hips or not – and it still set her pulse racing sometimes, watching any of them leave the house, even if it was just to catch the school bus, or answer a late night call in the NICU.

They could talk about it all they wanted, she insisted to herself, but none of them were mothers, and none of them got it, that it was her number one job – to keep her freaking kids alive, even if they were intent on killing themselves. It wasn't like Alex should talk, since he'd had them hurtling down that damned mountain behind their house again that past snowy winter on their death trap red Super Spinners, and it wasn't like her sisters should talk, since none of them could keep a cactus alive for a week, when you got right down to it, even if it was a miracle that none of them had kids of their own by now, just judging by how often they did it, on air planes and in Madison Garden and even while SCUBA diving, at least, according to what Beth had told Katie and Abbey about it, her latest trip to Australia.

It wasn't like her mother should talk either, since she just wouldn't get it, that it was different with her kids, and that it was already starting, the early notification from the adoption agency, that it would be legally open soon, Katie's file, and she could search for it if she wanted, any information about her birth parents, and the agency might even have it, their addresses, and it was the last thing April needed, to be reminded of it, that she'd promised it in writing, that she'd keep them safe, and that she'd signed her name it – to give Katie a better future, even if Katie hadn't even done it, changed her name for it – and it was the last thing she wanted to think about, losing Katie period, as if she hadn't thought about it for years, that it might all come back to bite them – her pressing Alex to do it so many years before.

It wasn't like they hadn't squabbled over it enough already, April sighed – Katie and Alex – since it wasn't like Katie hadn't pointed it out to him repeatedly, that it wasn't like they were her real parents, and it wasn't like they weren't losing her, anyway, April imagined, since it was already coming in the mail, room assignments for her dorm, her class schedule for the fall, a list of things she'd need to set up her room, a campus map – which made it all look further away than April ever remembered it.

She didn't get it, either, she grumbled, as she tossed the bill for useless car storage into the folder, because it wasn't like Alex hadn't snarked on the little pink "bug" car from day one, and it wasn't like he'd ever thought Katie deserved it, ever since she'd blown it at Mayfield, and it wasn't like he hadn't made it perfectly clear to her without saying a word, that he thought she spoiled Katie – as if he'd had nothing to do with any of it - the fish room she'd had as a kid, the pond he'd dug out of the yard, the expensive school that catered to her, the attic lair – and it wasn't like Katie and Alex weren't still simmering about it all anyway, the both of them, since it wasn't like it wasn't what the two of them did best – the stony, stubborn silence, or the snarking – and it wasn't like she got it at all, why he'd pay for it to be stored in an over-priced garage, when it was just a "freaking little girly bug car."

* * *

><p>"It's due in three weeks," Katie reminded him, pushing the envelope toward him. "I already addressed it," she pointed out, pulling a soda can from the refrigerator.<p>

Alex nodded, adding it to the pile as he made out the monthly bills. It was for her books for her first semester, and she'd filled it out the first day she'd gotten it, as if she couldn't wait to get on with it – and off to California – not that she blamed her for it, since her and April were still squawking about it, the accident, and it wasn't like Katie had made any secret of it, anyway, over the past month, that it was all about new opportunities – and sandy beaches – and she was planning to make the most of it.

"This for her?" she asked hesitantly, fingering the envelope addressed to the car storage company. It was still a matter of contention, between Katie and April, and it wasn't like it didn't suck, being caught in the middle of it, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it, anyway, since they were both as damn stubborn as freaking mules, no matter how often they denied it.

"Yeah," he grumbled, "it's expensive." It wasn't like he didn't see it, either, April's point about it being good for her, not to have a car for a while. But it wasn't like it made any sense, either, to delay fixing it, if that's what they were going to do with it anyway – even if they weren't, April insisted – though he'd believe it when he saw it, either of them giving up on the little pink girly car that even had a freaking vase in it.

"I don't want it, anyway," Katie retorted defiantly, and he didn't believe it at all – the she didn't want it – but it was just like her to deny it. "Here's the list," she added, sliding another sheet of paper across the counter to him as she popped open her soda.

"Are you ready?" he sighed impatiently. He hated it, taking her to the mall, but it wasn't like she could drive herself, with the grounding and all, and it wasn't like she could go with Sarah, since she was still getting over it, her broken ankle, and it wasn't like she could go with April, since they were still battling over all of it, and it wasn't like she could go with Beth, since Beth was in Bangkok, or Bali, or Bermuda, someplace tropical, that started with a B, he remembered vaguely, since she'd already sent the girls some pictures of it.

"Uh-huh," she nodded, following him to his car.

It was crazy, just to find parking, and it was annoying, how far spread apart the bedding and electronics stores were, and it made no sense to him whatsoever – the sizing charts on dorm sized sheets – and he just rolled his eyes as he toted it back to the car, the neon green and purple hamper she'd picked, as if she'd even use it – just judging from her attic lair, which always looked like a hurricane had just blown through it, and it wasn't like he'd ever get it, what chicks saw in those little animal print rugs, since it wasn't like they were cushy or comfortable or warm, not that he even wanted to think about it, what she might be doing on it, just going by his own days in college.

"That's fattening," Katie smirked at the food court later that afternoon, eying him up and down as he dug into his nachos.

"When are you leaving, again?" Alex grumbled, eagerly digging into his food. It had come and gone in a heartbeat, her clinging to him in the hospital, and it wasn't like she'd been calling him fat that night, even when she was squeezing the stuffing out of him, almost literally, but it had all returned over the past few weeks, the snarky attitude toward Abbey and Eric and the running commentary on his diet and his DVDs and the sniping with April, not that April wasn't returning it, he reminded himself, as he watched Katie pouring light dressing on her Caesar salad.

"In two weeks," Katie smirked, and it was all there all over again, he noticed, the attitude and the anger and the challenging tone and the fear and the doubt and the fierceness and the determination and whatever the hell else it was that made her so impossibly her.

"You got everything?" he asked between chews, motioning to her crumpled list on the table beside their tray. He'd hear it later, he was sure, about how she really didn't need it – the expensive new comforter with the matching… whatever they were, or the real leather laptop bag with the shiny buckles, or the rotating lava lamp – and he'd hear about it, he was sure, about how she really didn't need it, the new blouse for her first day of class, the new rain jacket, since it didn't even mist where she was going, the way the brochures described it, or the shiny brown handbag with all the little compartments for her chick junk.

He'd hear about it from April, he was sure, but he remembered it vividly – hauling his own junk into the dorms in black plastic bags, and he'd heard it then, too, about how it wasn't like he belonged there, about how it wasn't like he'd even be there, if he wasn't on some charity for dumb jocks scholarship, about how he'd never make it anyway, even if he could afford to be there for real, about how it fit him somehow, hauling around trash bags, since that was all it would ever amount to, his whole freaking life.

That's just what it was like, he remembered, when you aged out of it, the whole fucking foster care system, and it was just the way it was, when you didn't have a dime and grew up stealing food because it never did a fucking thing, the whole freaking system, and it wasn't going to happen to Katie just because it was still raging – her battle with April – and it wasn't like she needed it, either, any reminders that it might make her different from the other kids, the freaking system.

"I need a bikini for class," she snickered, slurping her soda, and he was sure it was deliberate, her trying to drive him crazy, and he could already feel it, his ears reddening, and he didn't want to think about it, all the guys she'd be meeting in it, her dorm, and he could just imagine what April had told her about it, and it was making his stomach churn all over again, even if he hadn't eaten all those nachos.

"You know," she added, teasing him again, "for the guys."

"They're not worth it," he muttered under his breath, slurping his own soda after an awkward silence.

"What?" Katie asked, looking up with a puzzled frown. She probably wasn't expecting him to say anything, he imagined, and it probably caught her off guard, and it wasn't like they hadn't agreed on it ages ago – that April would handle it with the girls, and he'd handle it with Eric – but Katie would be leaving soon, and she'd be surrounded by it, and he still had no idea what April had told her about it, exactly, and it wasn't like he even wanted to imagine it, everything that could go wrong if she wasn't careful about it, even just once, when you got right down to it.

"They're not worth it," he repeated, shrugging as he pulled out his wallet.

"Didn't you do it in college?" she snickered, almost hesitantly as her eyes narrowed on him.

"Yeah," he said, nodding as he helped her gather up her bags.

"But you're telling me not to?" she smirked, rolling her eyes at him.

"No," he muttered, piling her things in the back of his convertible. And he wasn't, because Katie was stubborn and pig headed and never met a rule she wouldn't break, just to break it, and he could see it already, her doing it – on the animal print rug they'd just bought – just because she thought they didn't want her to do it.

"Sounds like it," Katie retorted, scowling as she snapped her seat belt into place.

"No," Alex corrected, shrugging slightly as he pulled out of the crowded parking lot. "I said they're not worth it."

* * *

><p>It had been the right decision, April nodded to herself – even if Alex would never admit it - inviting Amber to her end of summer picnic. It would give the kids a chance to meet his sister, and her now four year old son, Nicholas, and it would give them all a chance to spend some time together before Katie went off to college, and it would give Alex and Amber a chance to work through it, whatever it was – besides the pig headed stubbornness, which apparently was genetic – whatever it was that made them so awkward with each other, not that she wasn't well aware of – April reminded herself – since she'd seen it up close, in the little white farm house that always felt to her like a tornado had just swept through it.<p>

It had probably felt like that to them, too, she reminded herself – not that they'd ever admit it, and it wasn't like Alex would ever talk about it, since that would require actual words, and it wasn't like April didn't get it – that it was horrible, all of it. It wasn't like Amber hadn't moved on with it, though, with an apartment in LA and a child and a great job, and it wasn't like Alex hadn't moved on, too, sort of, except that it sort of was, and she just couldn't stand it sometimes, that he wouldn't even talk about it, about what it was like to be made into the bad guy in the story, when really, it wasn't his fault.

They'd just have to sort it out, she insisted to herself, and she'd just keep inviting Amber to celebrate holidays with them until it got better, the stilted, lingering silences between them, and it wasn't like she couldn't see it – that Amber was a different person, now, and it wasn't like Amber couldn't see it, too, she imagined, that she'd never really known Alex to begin with, and it wasn't like they didn't have time to work on it, since it wasn't like they were going anywhere.

It wasn't like Abbey wasn't taking full advantage of it, either, April noticed, almost laughing as she noticed her and Amber together, since Abbey already had it all worked out – that little Nicholas was a descendant of Russian Tsars, and April could just imagine it, the stories she could come up with for Amber if she was given half a chance, about her being an escaped Princess from the Russian Revolution, or the long lost daughter of a serf who went on to plant half of Iowa with amber waves of grain – hence her name – or a runaway bear trainer from a Russian zoo.

April had already told Abbey the truth, though, Abbey and the other kids, well, some of it, and they'd just have to accept it for the moment, that it wasn't like Alex and his sister got along all that well, and it wasn't like they'd had the best time growing up, and it wasn't like they should be surprised about it – if Amber was a little reserved or Alex was uncomfortable – and it wasn't like she didn't expect them to at least be polite about it all, since she was their aunt and all, and it wasn't like it was any of their business anyway, who her son's father was, since it wasn't like your family wasn't who raised you, anyway.

It came out more forcefully than she intended, that last point, and it earned her some eye rolling from Katie, because it had come in the mail weeks before, the notification that her adoption papers could be legally reopened, and that she might be able to track down her biological parents – if she wanted it, the information – as if it wasn't already hard enough, with her getting ready to move on to college.

Katie had just tossed it into the basket on the kitchen counter with a shrug, anyway, April reminded herself, though it was just a matter of time before Abbey would be getting one, too, another thick envelop from the agency, and it wasn't like Katie hadn't reminded them about it often enough – that they weren't her biological parents – and it wasn't like Abbey wasn't all about family history, and she could already imagine it, the girls wanting to know all about it, what their biological parents were like.

It wasn't uncommon, April reminded herself, as she watched Katie pack up her life over the next few weeks, and it wasn't like the adoption agency hadn't informed them all about it, she recalled, as she watched Katie and Alex squabble over the old fish tanks cluttering the garage – and it wasn't like April would blame the girls, she reminded herself, or discourage them, she prodded herself frequently, and it wasn't like it meant anything, either, if the girls were curious about it.

It wasn't like they'd been raised by them anyway, April reminded herself, as she and Alex drove Katie down to her school, and it wasn't like first year students were even allowed to have cars on campus, she snapped at Katie, again – underlining the policy in the college handbook – and it wasn't like she should even be thinking about it, the car she'd already totaled, and it wasn't like she didn't get it, anyway – that Katie was snarking on Alex because she was scared and would be homesick, and that Alex was snarking at Katie because he was scared and would miss her, and that both of them would sooner eat three pounds of cock roaches – minus any maple syrup - before they'd admit it.

It had nothing to do with the accidental detour that Alex had taken through Riverside, anyway, April reminded herself, as Katie scowled at the long lines of new students moving into their dorms, and it had nothing to do with Radioactive Snakeheads, she reminded herself, as Katie rushed over to greet Sarah, who would be her roommate, and it had nothing to do with Katie "needing book money," she was sure, as Alex gruffly shoved more twenty dollar bills into Katie's shaking hand, and it had nothing to do with the papers in the basket on the kitchen counter, she was sure, when Katie stiffened in April's embrace, tersely announcing "I'll call you," as she and Sarah went off on their way.

It couldn't have anything to do with the papers in the basket, April insisted, wiping at her eyes as Alex pulled out of the long winding parking lot. "I was right," she muttered instead, trying to sound more confident then she felt.

"She did it," April added, her voice shaking as she tried to imagine it, flowing graduation robes, and a job that Katie loved – back in Seattle – and a future that she'd never have had if they hadn't done it, raised her to be the person she was, even if it nearly drove them crazy.

"Right," Alex mumbled, his face darkening as his eyes stayed locked on the road ahead.

* * *

><p>"Red stilettos?" April giggled, flipping through the resort brochure as they drove along the rugged coastline, on a brilliant late October afternoon.<p>

"Hot," Alex agreed, nodding smugly.

"And on a Harley?" April snickered, rolling her eyes. Of course he'd find it, the only resort on the Puget Sound supposedly haunted by a tough talking, motorcycle riding Madame wearing a red dress slit clear up to her thigh, at least, according to local legend.

"She ran the saloon, too," he reminded her seriously, as if "research" conducted by the local Paranormal Phenomena Association ranked right up there with articles in the New England Journal of Medicine.

"She might be too busy for you, then," April giggled again as she gazed out across the sparkling water.

"Especially with the party and all," Alex agreed, missing April's smirk entirely.

"Forget it," she insisted, shaking her head. "I didn't even bring it," she reminded him, rolling her eyes again at the first costume he'd picked for her. "I'm not dressing as one of those big boobed Martians," she repeated sternly, "even if they did build the Pyramids in Egypt, which they didn't."

"They might have," Alex corrected her defensively. "And if you've got it, flaunt it," he added, wiggling his eyebrows at her as he smirked suggestively.

"Won't Alice Rheem be jealous?" she teased, motioning to the glossy picture of the ghostly apparition on the brochure, replete with her flapper hat and fish net stockings.

"Of you?" Alex smirked. "Count on it."

"I'm still not wearing it," she insisted, rolling her eyes again. "My costume is fine," she added. It wouldn't have been her first choice, actually. But she wasn't going to dress up as a Martian, no matter what he wanted. And it was almost inevitable – her dressing up as Marie Antoinette, a character who got beheaded – since Abbey made the costume, using Mrs. Dubois as a model, and Abbey and Alex just thought it was hilarious, apparently, to pair her up with the Headless Horseman Alex was going as.

She wouldn't even mention it, either, she reminded herself, as they pulled up to the resort, that at least she was going as an actual historical figure; and she wouldn't even mention it, she reminded herself, as she watched him curiously scanning the densely landscaped grounds looming around them as dusk fell, that ghosts were busy around Halloween – especially saloon running ghosts, most likely; and she just wouldn't mention it, she reminded herself, as she watched him eagerly sign the registry, that it was the last thing she'd ever expected, to be packed off to a haunted house on a Halloween weekend adventure on the anniversary of his marriage proposal, as if it hadn't been scary enough the first time.

She giggled at the thought as they stashed their bags in their room and went to the resort restaurant for dinner, because she could still picture it, the frantic look on his face when he dropped the ring into the tub of popcorn. It was all his fault, she reminded herself with a giggle as she watched him frowning at the unusual menu – rewritten in ghoulish language for the holiday – since it was his idea to propose at a basketball game, while wearing a space vampire costume.

At least he hadn't done it at Cristina's party later that evening, she reminded herself, smirking again as she watched him dig happily into his steak and French fries, because she would never have heard the end of it – the Virgin and the Vampire – even if she really hadn't been a virgin at the time, and even if he wasn't a real vampire – since really, it wouldn't have made a difference to the hospital grapevine, if the other way around made a better story.

At least it wasn't one of Beth's trips, either, she reminded herself later that evening, as they wandered out onto the wide porch overlooking the bay. It definitely wasn't Beth's type of place, she thought with a smirk, and it wasn't like he would've ever gotten this idea from her – though she wondered if Abbey had had a hand in it – and it wasn't like Beth liked it much anyway, night photography, she imagined, as she watched the almost full moon cast dancing silver beams across the glassy water.

She probably should've brought it, though, she thought with a giggle as she watched Alex furtively scanning the far shore – no doubt looking for hot ghosts, or possibly Big Foot – the digital camera the kids had given her for Mother's Day that year – since it wasn't just any day that she'd have a chance to catch a photo of it – a big furry Ape Man getting it on with a trashy, hard drinking chick ghost.

It almost made her laugh out loud – how he'd probably caption it, if he ever got a picture like that – and she could already hear Katie snarking about it, and Eric pointing out that it wasn't scientific evidence, no matter what the documentaries dad watched said, and Abbey offering to frame and mat it, and to put it up in her room on the shelves beside his trophies. She could hear it all, she thought wryly, as his fingers slipped around hers: Beth evaluating it for shutter speed and exposure, and Jenny talking about copy righting it; Cari judging Big Foot's… other dimensions… and Dani trying to get him to play for the Knicks.

She could hear it from her mother, too, she thought, almost blushing – since it would probably qualify as pornography, even if it was just a ghost doing it with a myth – and it was still hard for her to imagine sometimes – that her sisters were so cavalier about it, and that even Abbey had already done it, when really, her mother had made it pretty clear that they weren't even supposed to talk about it, or think about it, much less actually do it, before they married, since that wasn't how it was done, at least, not in Ohio, at least, to hear her mother tell it.

It hadn't worked out like that for her, either, though, she reminded herself wryly, as they walked slowly along the shore. She'd always expected it though, that Abbey at least would be more like her – that Abbey would wait for it – since she was all about it, about sweeping historical romances and fairy tales and knights in shining armor, about flowers and fantasies and wild flights of imagination.

It wasn't like that at all, though, anyway, she reminded herself – and it wasn't like Abbey could've gotten that idea from them, since it wasn't exactly Romance Novel 101 to celebrate your quasi anniversary by dressing up as a headless couple, and it wasn't exactly Romance Novel 101 to wander a darkened shore searching for ghosts and Big Foots, and it wasn't exactly Romance Novel 101 even if she did finally get it – their terrible joke about how they couldn't even have their heads examined for it, for dressing up like headless characters to celebrate it, the day they'd decided it – that it would always be just them.

It wasn't funny at all, she'd insisted smugly, the first time she'd heard Alex and Abbey going on about it – and it certainly hadn't been necessary to include Mrs. DuBois in it, even if she had been modeling it at the time – her costume – and it wasn't like Mrs. DuBois didn't have more sense than the two of them sometimes, she reminded herself, and it still wasn't funny hours later, even if Eric had gotten it, too.

It wasn't funny the following evening either, she reminded herself, gazing in the mirror as the beautiful fabric billowed around her, and it wasn't funny at all, the way he slipped his arm around her as they went down to the party – and it wasn't funny there, either, she thought, rolling her eyes as Alex shared the joke with a bartender – and it wasn't funny, either, his grumbling about pinchy shoes and a too tight collar - as if being a headless anything was easy, when you got right down to it – and it wasn't funny at all, the way his pinchy shoes landed on hers the one time she maneuvered him onto the dance floor.

It was grudging and pouty and vintage Alex, she thought, as she watched him across the candle lit room - digging into a second piece of chocolate cake, and it was halting and clumsy and vintage Alex, she thought, when he brought over the Strawberry short cake for her – as if her own costume wasn't tight enough, and it was bright eyed and shy and vintage Alex, she thought, the way he slipped his sticky fingers through hers and led her out to the gaily decorated wide porch once again.

It was almost empty, despite the goblins and the ghouls and the pumpkins and the black cats lining the rails, and it was almost quiet despite the raucous music and the excited chatter and the cackling of some motorized witches hanging from the rafters in the resort, and it was almost dark despite the lanterns lining the bannisters, and it was almost deserted, the long stretch of moonlit shoreline he led her along, as the waves lapped placidly beneath the full moon.

It was vintage Alex, she thought with a smirk – because it was always too much for him after a few hours, such large gatherings – and it was vintage Alex, the shy hazel eyes that darted away the moment they met hers, and it was vintage Alex, the way her heartbeat fell wordlessly into step with his as they walked, and it was vintage Alex, she giggled to herself as she tightened her grip on his warm hand, that had her strolling along the shore on a chilly, breezy Halloween night with a sticky fingered Headless Horseman in pinchy shoes, even if it made the trampy ghost who ran the resort jealous.

* * *

><p>It had always been their favorite part of Thanksgiving, Alex remembered, the televised Macy's Parade, which Katie and Abbey would watch eagerly, before they all went over to Beth's for the usual feast. It was all about the costumes and the floats for Abbey, he recalled with a smirk, and it was all about the balloons and the bands for Katie, and Eric was all about watching for Santa and the elves to make their first appearance of the season, and getting his list ready.<p>

It had been a while since they'd wanted to see it, though, any of it, and it was different this year anyway, with Katie still away at school, even for the holiday, and Abbey all about getting her latest photography portfolios together to show Beth – for when she be applying to colleges herself, and it wasn't like Eric even pretended to believe in Santa Claus now, not that he needed to, since April spoiled him rotten – though it still wasn't spoiling when she did it, at least, as she explained it.

It was all just as well, he imagined as he shrugged off his coat, scanning the expansive entryway to Beth's house with the garishly decorated crystal chandelier – which, honestly, looked worse than the ridiculous jumbo lighted candy canes that April always had him hang along their porch eaves. It wasn't like it wasn't the same thing every year, anyway, with Cari bragging about her research and Jenny weighing her croutons on that little diet scale and Dani fighting with Neil about some hot blonde, or red head, or brunette – depending on who told it – and Beth baking three different pies while her mother decorated the turkey, as if it was starring on one of those fancy television cooking shows.

Not that it mattered, though, because it was always awesome, her stuffing with the pecans, and it was always huge, the turkey, and they were always steaming hot, the potatoes, and it really did kill the taste of the vegetables – the yellow sauce her mother dribbled over them – and there was nothing quite like it, the hot apple pie she made with the apples she'd picked herself just that past weekend, and it all just settled in his stomach, atop the hot buttered biscuits, and it all just faded into the background, the chattering of her sisters and the suspicious stares from her father and the Christmas music that always played in the next room, where a huge lighted blue spruce tree loomed in the bay window, blinking and shimmering as dusk settled across the expansive, tree lined yard that stretched toward the horizon.

It was different this year, though, he'd noticed immediately, as he tugged uncomfortably at his tie, since April hadn't been able to leave it alone, and Amber had actually accepted it – her invitation to Beth's for the holiday meal – and it would be awkward as hell, he'd warned her two weeks before, since it would be questions about why he'd never mentioned it, having a sister, and it would be questions about it, the four year old son she had, Nicholas, since it wasn't like she was married, or even dating, and it wasn't like it was anyone else's business but hers, he'd reminded April, but it wasn't like her busybody sisters or her judgmental parents would see it that way, even if it was the freaking truth.

It wasn't like April should be forcing it, anyway, he'd grumbled under his breath, since it wasn't like they could just wipe it all away, all the crap that had led to it – to Aaron living in a loony bin and Amber being a single mother in California and Alex being the guy whose fault it all was, at least, to hear Amber tell it – and it wasn't like he could freaking do anything about it, any of it.

Amber brought it anyway, though, the desert she'd apparently discussed with April, and it must just be a chick thing, he noticed, since she had Nicholas in a tie and pinchy shoes, too, and she chattered about it with Cari, her job as a nurse practitioner, and she raved about it with Beth, the beauty of the California coast, and she agreed about it with Jenny, that health care reform was a serious political issue, and she sympathized about it with Dani, heavy city traffic and guys who couldn't keep it in their pants, even if they denied it, and she praised it politely – their mother's Turkey basting – and she avoided it like the rest of them, any mention of the Cleveland Browns, at least where April's father could hear it.

It was definitely a chick thing, he agreed, nearly two hours later, and it was vaguely spinning, his head, and it was making him drowsy, the meal he'd just eaten, and he retreated to it the first chance he got, the quiet den tucked behind the back staircase. It was lined floor to ceiling with book cases, except for the tall windows overlooking the darkened back yard – where an army of fir trees towered like stern sentries – and it had a sweet flat screen television mounted on the wall, and he just plopped down on it, the plushest sectional he'd ever seen, as he scanned the channels for the late football game.

It always ended like that, his Thanksgivings at Beth's house, and it was all around him, he noticed as he scanned the room, souvenirs from her exotic travels and photos she'd taken from around the world and antique photography equipment, and it was the kind of room that he could imagine Abbey having in her home someday, after she became a wildly successful… after she became a brilliant and accomplished … a whatever it was you did with fashion and cameras and stacked headless models.

It would be perfect, really, he thought with a smirk, since it would be just the right place to stash all her Victorian stuff – though it would need to be painted a lighter color for that, he imagined – and it would be just the right place for her to watch her History Channel documentaries, though he never had been clear on it, exactly – whether it was more about kings and queens and battles and knights in shining armor, her love of history – or just about all the clothes they wore back then. But it was always her favorite subject, as far as he could tell, and it wasn't like it was hard to imagine it, Mrs. Dubois standing over by the far window, where she'd have a good view of it, the tree line looming in the distance.

It was nothing like he could imagine Katie having, though, he thought with a smirk, an elaborately decorated house or a whole room just for fancy, over-priced antiques, and he just rolled his eyes and leaned back into the couch as he thought about it, all the money he was pouring into getting the little pink Beetle car restored. It made no sense whatsoever, and it would've been cheaper just to get her a freaking new car, but it was all she really wanted – even if she'd never admit it - and it wasn't like she hadn't been doing okay during her first college semester, and it wasn't like he was doing any better at it – stopping his stomach from fluttering and his hands from shaking and his face from reddening and his voice from catching completely in his throat whenever one of the girls really wanted it, whatever it was, even if it was just a freaking little girly bug car.

It wasn't like it was just him, anyway, he reminded himself gruffly as he crossed his arms across his chest, no matter what April said – since it wasn't like she didn't spoil Eric, even if she hadn't actually wrapped him in plastic wrap, and it wasn't like she wasn't ridiculously over protective of him, and it wasn't like she didn't go completely overboard encouraging him – since really, he was never going to be much good at it, the whole drumming thing – and it wasn't like boys his age didn't break their arms all the time, and she could keep it to herself – all the freaking, glaring "I told you" so's as she checked his cast for the millionth time – because at least he'd learned something about it, how to defend himself, and it wasn't like they ever told him to do it in Karate class anyway – to try to karate chop the neighbor's mailbox, and Eric was too paying to replace it himself, no matter how long he had that cast on, and it wasn't like a kid that good in math shouldn't be smarter than that, when you got right down to it.

It still lingered in Beth's house anyway, though, and it followed him down the long hallway, the scent of the apple pie, and it was making his mouth water all over again, though he could barely move, and it was warm and quiet in the den, and he'd never understood it, really, how the room fit in with the rest of Beth's house, since it wasn't decorated like places always were in those home magazines April was always drooling over, and it was just sucking him in like that mutant seaweed from Lagoon of Doom IV – the extended version - the plush dark green sectional, and it wasn't like Beth cared if he left his beer bottle on the coffee table – though every other table in the house had lace doilies and expensive coasters and flowers in little baskets – and it wasn't like it even showed shoe marks, and it wasn't even a chick color, he noted, when you got right down to it, the dark paneled walls and the faded wood floors.

Mostly it was peaceful, though, he noticed, nodding drowsily, and it was away from all the chatter and gossip about it – elections and recipes and hem lengths and what losers all guys were, when they got right down to it – and it was just the flickering of the television, almost muted in the darkened room, and the impossibly cushiony couch and the scent of warm cinnamon until he felt it, the sudden dip in the sofa as Nicholas crawled into the spot beside him, giggling tiredly as he burrowed into the pillows.

It was probably too much for him, too, Alex imagined – all the new people and all the noise and all the fancy food, never mind the pinchy shoes – and it had been a long car trip for him, too, and it was probably his usual nap time, anyway, just judging from his fluttering eyes and his half stifled yawn, and Alex finally just shrugged at the little boy, reaching over to loosen his tie as he faded off to sleep.

It was probably just as well, Alex imagined, since it would give April a chance to grill Amber – since it wasn't going to stop, anyway, since April had already suggested it, that Amber and Nicholas stay with them overnight, and it wasn't like Nicholas needed to hear any of it, about how his loser uncle had beat up his father and abandoned his mother and ditched his sister and dumped his brother in a loony bin, as if he could've fucking done anything about it, any of it.

* * *

><p>It was too late when April's eyes finally opened, as a faint grey sleet raked the windows. "It's already 10:30," she muttered, sitting up abruptly and grabbing for her robe.<p>

"The kids already left," Alex mumbled, sliding his arm around her and tugging her back down with him.

"What?" April said, still trying to wake up as she scanned the dimly lit room. They'd been working long shifts for weeks, covering for staff who wanted time off, and it had all been blurring together, night and day, and it was wearing him out, and driving her crazy, and it was the first long weekend they'd had in two months, and it was the first time she could remember sleeping that late in ages. "How?"

"I paid Abbey yesterday," he said sleepily, pulling a thick beige comforter from the couch down around them as the fire place flickered in the still darkened room. "She fed Eric and got him on the bus."

"You bribed her?" April snickered.

"It was a business transaction," Alex corrected, burrowing back into his pillow.

"How much did that cost you?" April asked, suppressing another yawn and settling back down beside him.

"Twenty bucks," he murmured. "And a new hat for Mrs. DuBois."

"You're buying other women expensive Christmas presents now?" April demanded, trying not to giggle.

"She's hot," Alex shrugged, running his hands along April's body in a way that made her shiver. "And stacked," he nodded approvingly, smirking as she tried to suppress another soft sigh.

"She's married, remember?" April pointed out, squirming slightly in his grasp. It was all part of the story, at least, according to Abbey's imagination. Mrs. DuBois had been married to a member of the French Resistance, and barely escaped war torn Europe, and gone on to America, where she became a famous fashion model, and somehow lost her head along the way, apparently, April remembered with a smirk, though that part of the story wasn't discussed, in deference to Mrs. DuBois' feelings and all.

"She's a model," Alex reminded her, smiling smugly again as he nuzzled closer into her.

"She's too old for you," April insisted, shaking her head and sliding her arms around him with another mischievous giggle. He was as bad as Abbey, with his warped humor and penchant for believing wild stories - though, to be fair, at least Mrs. DuBois wasn't one of those busty Martian women from his documentaries –and she could just imagine what Abbey had made of it, his bribe, since Abbey was already doing it, and Abbey would figure it out if anyone would, not that it hadn't been a while since they'd done it – at least, until they'd done it three times the night before, April thought wryly, as she stretched lazily beside him.

"You jealous?" he smirked, pulling her closer as he toyed with her hair.

"I'm seeing her husband," April teased. "He's French, you know," she added, wiggling her eyebrows at him. She couldn't help it, since it had become a running joke somewhere along the line, anyway, about her being a dirty mistress, once upon a time, and it wasn't like that even registered on the Seattle Grace Grapevine, anymore, since it wasn't like everyone wasn't still doing it there – though she still hadn't done it there with Alex, technically – in the lounges or the CT room or even the pharmacy closet, no matter what the grapevine said about it.

"You get him a Christmas present?" Alex grumbled, a frowning pout flashing across his face.

"A new beret," April replied, giggling again as his lips brushed her neck. It had been entirely too long since they'd done it, until the night before, but they weren't going to be doing it again just then, she noticed, rolling her eyes, since he was already dozing off again as it wedged placidly against her, as his warm breath teased her chest.

It was just as well, she imagined, brushing her own lips lightly against his cheek, since it was the first time she'd had to actually study it closely, the huge Christmas tree that the kids had decorated. It was gauzy and glittery, like Abbey would do it, and it had all of Katie's sea life ornaments displayed right along the top branches, and she just rolled her eyes as she noticed it, the motorized Ferris wheel that Eric had added to the manger scene, which now had a blinking vacancy sign as well, apparently.

It was nothing like she would've decorated it, well, not exactly, but at least she'd finally gotten it together that year, and hung stockings for all of them along the fire place mantle, even if it would be another holiday meal at Beth's perfect house, with her fine crystal serving set from Denmark and her hand knitted over-stuffed stockings from Germany – because Beth was as determined to spoil April's children as Alex was – and her elegant ornaments from Sweden and Switzerland and Slovakia.

It was all there, too, April noticed wryly, piled under the tree, the neatly wrapped photo software that Abbey had been hinting at for months, and the ridiculously expensive leather jacket she'd wanted, just because she'd seen it in one of the magazines Beth published in; the electronics kit for Eric, and the guitar he'd been pleading for – though really, the neighbors would thank them, if that meant Eric would lay off his drums; and the little Volkswagen Beetle key chain for Katie, along with the keys to her newly repaired car.

He wouldn't even admit it, April recalled wryly, what it had cost him to get it fixed, and really, it made no sense, since it probably would've been cheaper and easier just to replace it. It was all Katie really wanted, though, her beloved little Beetle, and April was sure he didn't get it at all –just judging by how often he'd grumbled about not understanding why it was so freaking important to her – but it was there anyway, freshly painted and stashed hidden in the garage, though she hadn't even asked about it, about how he and Eric and Abbey had gotten it wrapped, since really, it just left her speechless anyway.

It had that effect on her, though, she reminded herself wryly, smirking again as she pulled him closer – even if it came slathered in sticky frozen strawberry yogurt, and bearing a set of large giraffe shaped wicker baskets – "perfect for storage" – wrapped in dancing snowman paper. It had that effect on her, she reminded herself, whatever it was that had her sprawled on the radioactive seaweed carpet again, listening to him breathe as he slept peacefully in her arms.

It had that effect on her, she smirked, leaning back in her own pillow and watching fresh snow flurries flutter across the window, even if she never could explain it to Beth – why she'd never done it in college, or to Dani – why she couldn't possibly do it in an on call room, or to Cari – why it didn't matter that she'd never done it with the Chief of Surgery, or to Jenny – why it wasn't like she actually needed one personally, a knight in shining armor, even if she did still read about it sometimes, under her giraffe shaped bedside table lamp – complete with the special compartment to stash her hand sanitizer.

She could make up stories about it instead, she imagined, almost giggling again. She could tell Dani that they did it under the Christmas tree – in the hospital atrium – and assure Beth that it was all about stress relief, just judging from his soft snores, and the supple curve of his back as she traced her fingers along it; she could tell Cari they did it in a threesome with the Surgeon General, and tell Jenny they did it beside a dreamy fire, after a candle lit dinner, after he'd come home with a dozen cut roses for her, and a heart shaped box of candy – none of which were actually bitten into ahead of time. She could even tell Beth that she'd finally gotten it to work, all the advanced features on her digital camera, and that she'd finally done it, managed to capture the golden sheen of the flickering fire shimmering off his ass.

It would all be lies, though, since it wasn't like roses and candle lit dinners would ever happen, and it wasn't like she'd ever master it completely, her digital camera, and none of it would seem right anyway, she reminded herself, rolling her eyes, because it would make her sound like the kids in her high school, who did it between classes, or her lab partners in med school, who joked about it in anatomy labs, and teased her with pictures of it – slipped into their review notes and flash cards – or the people at work, who did it as if it was a competitive sport, with extra points for creativity – or perversity when you got right down to it, doing it in the morgue and all – or even like them, since her sisters just didn't seem to get it, that it was different for her.

It had to be, she imagined, since she just couldn't help it, listening to him breathe afterwards, and she just couldn't picture it – leaving him alone in a chilly on call room after doing it, if she got paged – and it just made her wince, anyway, the whole idea of wrapping it in those scratchy blankets, since it wasn't like she'd want any of the nurses walking in on him sleeping and seeing it, and she just couldn't imagine it, just up and walking away while it wedged tiredly against her, resting placidly.

She got it, too, that it was all about hormones and neurotransmitters, when you got right down it, but it wasn't for her, the whole doing it casually thing, even if she was a doctor, and saw it all the time. She got it, too, that her sisters just thought differently about it, but that didn't change anything about it for her, either – that it wasn't a game or a toy or a ticket to great surgeries or a way to kill boredom during long stopovers – even if it wasn't anything like she'd ever imagined, doing it on radioactive seaweed carpet, with a man who seriously believed that busty Martian babes might have built the Egyptian pyramids.

It was nothing like she imagined, she reminded herself, giggling again as she ran her fingers along his warm skin, and she wondered about it, really, what Abbey and Katie expected it to be, since she'd read all about it – about how women often pick men like their fathers, and she wondered what they'd learned about it from her, since it wasn't like she'd exactly been comfortable talking about it with them, either, and it wasn't like Abbey hadn't already shocked her, and it wasn't like Katie wasn't keeping her up nights – since it was just a matter of time – and she didn't even want to think about it, about sweet little Eric, who already had it all, the hazel eyes and the confounding smirk and the shy smile that just made it inevitable, that he'd be doing a lot of it, too, when you got right down to it.

She almost rolled her eyes at all of it, as she tugged Alex closer, because she'd been doing it for over fifteen years, and sometimes she still felt like she wasn't ready for it – even if he got her giggling about it, the whole dirty mistress thing, and even if he had her joking about it, the sensational news on the grape vine, and even if he had her believing it, usually – that her sisters were just jealous of it, her wavy hair or her Martian boobs or her purple swimsuit or how she got to do it with cool whip – and even if it was still sometimes all she thought about when she looked at him, the feel of it, and even if he'd been right about it – that she was too loud to do it in an on call room, anyway, being a department head and all – not that she'd ever admit it, that he'd been right, since then she'd never hear the end of it.


	19. Chapter 19

They were at it again, Alex noticed – April and Katie – and it wasn't like Alex blamed April, since it wasn't like Katie hadn't gotten a few C's her first semester of college – unlike April, or Abbey, who always got A's in everything - and it wasn't like Katie wasn't squawking about it – April's curfew – especially after she'd gotten her car back, and it wasn't like she wasn't raving about it to Abbey – California – as if Abbey needed anymore encouragement to look at schools near LA, or "the fashion mecca," as Abbey put it.

It wasn't like Katie hadn't at least managed a B- average, though, and it wasn't like she was running around doing crazy shit, since mostly she and Abbey were at it, again, haunting Beth's photography studio – and if it had to be any of April's sisters, Beth was probably the best one to learn it from, all the stuff that went into picture taking, whatever it was, and at least it wasn't the constant squabbling among the kids that it had been during the worst of it, Katie's pain in the ass senior year, and at least she hadn't done anything about it, the envelope that came from the adoption agency.

It was worrying April, though, he could tell, since it wasn't like Katie hadn't said it a million times, about how they weren't her real parents, and it wasn't like that didn't hurt April, even if she never really talked about it, and it wasn't like he didn't get it – that she hadn't been ready for it all, all that crap that comes up when you get mixed in with it, the whole fucking foster care system, and it wasn't like he didn't get it, that it was keeping her up nights, smearing the freaking pink girly strawberry frozen yogurt over onto his chocolate and Winston's vanilla, as if it wasn't freaking divided up in the box for a reason.

It wasn't helping either, he imagined, as he spread de-icing salt on their driveway, a few days before Christmas, that it would be another round of budget cuts at the hospital, and more staffing headaches, and it wasn't helping, he imagined, as he hung out the jumbo candy canes, that it had been another crazy weekend in the ER, and that the kids hadn't exactly done it the way she would have again that year – decorated the tree – and that the six year old she'd stabilized in the ambulance bay a few days before had died before she'd been able to do it, give the girl's parents one more Christmas with her, even if it wouldn't have mattered anyway, really, when you got right down to it.

He'd be hearing it again, too, he imagined, as he lugged in more wood for the fireplace, about how it would be January soon, and about how it was always a time for new beginnings – as if a freaking funeral for a six year old shouldn't tell her all she needed about it, about holidays and hope and new beginnings – even if that was why she'd done it, again, invited Amber and Nicholas to spend Christmas with them, as if it was ever going to change, whatever it was that she wanted him to do with Amber, or for Amber, or about Amber, or because of Amber, as if he had any idea what it was, anyway.

He smirked at it anyway, though, as he wandered back into the garage in search of his ladder – the electric Jeep he'd gotten Nicholas to ride, since it wasn't like his mother would do it, just judging by the choking ties and the pinchy shoes she made the poor kid wear. It was a shiny, iridescent green, he noted approvingly – at least, that's what it had said on the tag – and it had rugged lugged wheels, and a storage slot for Legos or G.I. Joes or whatever, and it wasn't educational or practical – or freaking clothes, he thought with a grimace – and it was totally cool even if it wasn't on April's approved gift list.

He would've loved it, he imagined, when he was a kid, if Christmas hadn't been just a day when his father's boozing started even earlier, if it hadn't been just another chance to remind him of it – that they didn't have it, and wouldn't get it, and didn't deserve it, whatever it was that the other kids on the street got, if it hadn't been just another reminder, that whatever the fuck it was, whatever they had wasn't a family.

It was a great gift, too, he grumbled, as he dragged the ladder toward the porch, and it wasn't like she should hold it against Nicholas, he insisted, as he began emptying the leave clogged gutters, that she spent so much time treating injured kids around the holidays – as if every Super Spinner Dare Devil sled was a one way ticket to the ER. It wasn't like Nicholas shouldn't be able to use one of those, either, since it wasn't like they didn't have an extra one – since April never used hers – and it wasn't like he and Abbey and Katie and Eric would just leave Nicholas behind if it snowed and they went off sledding, with his worry wart aunt and his over protective mother – and it wasn't like Katie's broken wrist from over a decade ago was at all relevant, no matter what April said about it.

It was a great gift, he insisted, as he lugged the ladder back to the garage, and he just needed to finish wrapping it, he reminded himself – or at least, he just needed Abbey to wrap it – and he'd put their name on it, too, the gift tag, just to help counter-act it, whatever it was Amber was probably telling him, about how it was all her brother's fault that he didn't have grandparents to spoil him, about how it was all her brother's fault, that his uncle Aaron didn't send him anything, that it was all her loser brother's fault that he didn't have it, really, a big fancy family or a home with a tree house or even a dog, since they were shaggy and all, but they sort of went with the whole kid thing, when you got right down to it.

* * *

><p>"You're really terrible at it, you know," April giggled, crouching down beside Alex and peering over his shoulder.<p>

"It's not ready," he grumbled through gritted teeth.

"You could read the instructions," she announced, frowning as she watched him clumsily trying to untangle some wires. Well, he could, if the world was ending, or she'd just stumbled into a parallel universe, or an old episode of the Twilight Zone, or if he was someone else entirely.

"They're in French," he retorted impatiently, motioning to the crumpled papers littering the carpet as he moved on to several clusters of plastic model pieces.

"Maybe Mrs. DuBois could translate for you?" April teased. She could have tried helping him herself, too, but it was apparently some kind of contest, between him and Eric – to build something from the parts of Eric's new electronics kit, which apparently should've come with an actual electrician, at least for Alex, since he had no chance on earth of winning it.

"She's busy," Alex huffed, rolling his eyes. He'd probably already tried to rope Abbey into it, she imagined. But Abbey was still spending all her time with her new pattern making fashion software, and she was already working on it – the vintage dress she was making – not that it made April jealous at all, she reminded herself, Mrs. DuBois' wardrobe, even if it did make hers look a little plain by comparison, when you got right down to it.

"Do they have a phone hot line?" April asked, motioning to the papers on the carpet.

"No," Alex grumbled, frowning as he stared baffled at two connector joints.

"You mean, you didn't look," April corrected. "And even if they did, you wouldn't call it."

"For what?" he snorted, tossing the connectors aside and moving on to what look like half a motor.

"Barbie Dream House?" she teased. It had almost been condemned before he'd even finished putting it together, she remembered, and it wasn't like Barbie and her friends were ever going to navigate that upside down staircase, even if they weren't all wearing heels.

"Those instructions were in Portuguese," he insisted, scowling back at her incredulously. "And I got it right side up, anyway," he added smugly. Which he did, to be fair, even if it had taken him three hours, and even if it had been Christmas Eve, and even if it had been a pretty close call, finishing it in time to eat all the cookies Abbey had left out for Santa – even if he did leave the carrots, since apparently Santa was hot and tired and cranky by then and just couldn't be bothered to feed his reindeer, at least, not as she remembered it.

"The Woodland Glades Safari Adventure Set?" April prodded, raising her eyebrows at him.

"That got attacked by Pirates," he said, his eyes widening so seriously that she burst out laughing. It was true, too, she imagined, technically, since the hulking plastic tree house – with the working bridges, and the 700+ parts, animals sold separately - had been overrun by sword brandishing Lego men.

"You could just admit it to him," April pointed out, smirking again. "That you need help, I mean," she added, surveying the scene as he rooted through a bewildering array of tiny parts, most of which she was sure he couldn't even identify by name, even if the rest of the instructions weren't in Swedish.

"I'll get it," he grumbled, looking even more baffled as he frowned suspiciously at the box again, as if it was personally tormenting him.

"Just admit it," she giggled, sliding her arms around him. "You're terrible at it," she teased, tugging him playfully to the floor with her.

"I am, huh?" he smirked, watching her smugly as she toyed with the strings to his faded sweatpants.

"I'm much better" she agreed, nodding matter of fact, and giggling again as he gasped, as her hands slipped under the faded fabric.

"You're Wonder Woman?" he teased, smirking again as he untangled the belt from her robe.

"I'm not dressing like Wonder Woman," she insisted, gasping herself as his hands and his lips wandered up her body. It had been a running joke, ever since she'd been mentioned on the news a few weeks before, for stopping on the highway to assist an ambulance crew with a severe car accident. She'd saved two lives, he insisted, and it was still there like it always was - in his eyes – the eager belief that she was the go to chick in Trauma – and it made her think she could do anything, sometimes, even if she still wasn't doing it, ever, dressing up like Wonder Woman.

"It'd be hot," he shrugged, wiggling his eyebrows until his tee shirt tangled with his sweatpants on the floor beside them, and another groan rippled through him.

"It'd be uncomfortable," she corrected, giggling as he squirmed in her grasp – since it was all his fault, that he wore them – until her own robe slipped away, and his arms closed around her.

"What would that make you, anyway?" she asked, sighing again as his lips slowed their work.

"Superman," he insisted, nodding smugly through gritted teeth, as her fingers burrowed deeper into his groin.

"Superman's with Lois Lane," April insisted seriously, shaking her head and ominously tightening her grip. "You wouldn't be two timing Wonder Woman, would you?"

"Aqua Man," he corrected, squirming again as her hands trailed lazily along it.

"As if your swimmers haven't caused enough trouble?" she muttered, closing her fingers more tightly around them, since really, she probably could still dress like Wonder Woman, or Mrs. Dubois, if having his son hadn't accelerated the arrival of Aunt Edna's hips, not that it hadn't been inevitable anyway.

"To protect you from radio-active seaweed," he volunteered, moaning softly as a sleepy smile spread across his face.

"Umm, much better," she agreed, rolling her eyes as he nuzzled closer into her chest, as if – if it was ever going to attack them, the carpet wouldn't have done that already. Not that it couldn't just be lulling them into complacency, she reminded herself, just judging from some of those SciFi movies he watched.

It was too late anyway, she noted wryly, since Aqua Man was already dozing, and it was going to take a Mad Scientist to get one of those projects from Eric's electronics kit together, and it just showed how impractical dressing like Wonder Woman would be anyway, since she could just imagine it, the tight metal cone bra cutting into his face as he snored softly into her boobs.

It sounded almost as bad as a suit of shining armor, anyway, wearing it, and it would probably snag on her robe, and it wasn't like the mechanics made any sense at all, doing it while wearing sharp metal, not that they'd be doing it at the moment, she reminded herself, since it was already past midnight, and it had just been a crazy few weeks, with Christmas and New Years and the kids going back to school, and it was the first time she'd had in days just to enjoy it, the flurries dancing in the window and the fire place flickering in the darkened room and the radioactive seaweed tickling her skin, and she hadn't planned on it, anyway, doing it with Aqua Man, even if he did harbor fantasies about her, apparently.

It wasn't always necessary anyway, she reminded herself with a giggle as he curled sleepily around her, no matter what her sisters said about it, since it wasn't like she didn't enjoy it, anyway, the feel of it all wedged sleepily against her, and it wasn't like it still didn't make her skin tingle and her pulse race and her body tremble, sometimes, the feel of it all rippling against her, and it wasn't like it still didn't make her heart flutter and quiver and catch in her throat, sometimes, that the man who rarely trusted anyone with any of it could sleep so peacefully with all of it resting in her hands.

Not that she was doing it, though, she reminded herself – even if he thought it would be hot – her dressing up as Wonder Woman, though to be fair, him fantasizing about doing it with Wonder Woman was probably less weird than him fantasizing about doing it with Mrs. DuBois – no matter how well she dressed – since really, she was still all metal and wood frame when you got right down to it.

She rolled her eyes at the thought of it, too, since she could already imagine it, it getting wedged into the metal frame, and she could already picture it – driving her naked husband to the hospital in twelve degree weather and a snow storm, in an open convertible – and she could just see it, the pretty young nurses staring and gasping as the ER staff tried to untangle it, and she could hear it already, the chatter on the grapevine, about how her and Alex and a French model had ended up in the hospital after doing it together, and she could already imagine it, all the pretty young nurses wondering about it, how it was healing, and it would probably find its way into the story at some point anyway – she figured, rolling her eyes – her wearing a Wonder Woman costume as the three of them pulled into the ambulance bay, since really, that was how it all worked, the hospital grapevine, when you got right down to it.

* * *

><p>"She wasn't into it," Alex said, shrugging as he shoved some French Fries into his mouth.<p>

"Wonder Woman?" Meredith giggled, digging into her salad.

"It'd be hot," Alex nodded, slurping his soda.

"It's not romantic," Meredith corrected, shaking her head again. "Derek wouldn't do it," she insisted, frowning as she stirred her coffee.

"It's a fake holiday," he reminded her, rolling his eyes. And it was, and they'd had this discussion every February for as long as he could remember.

"I know, right," she agreed, flipping open her Neurosurgery Journal.

He'd heard about it all week, though, from the busy body nurses, about how it should be, Valentine's Day, about how it should be flowers and candy and dinner and dancing and all that crap, as if they wouldn't just die anyway, the freaking weeds; as if it didn't always end with the kids squabbling anyway, dinner; as if dancing was ever a good idea, no matter what it said, the calendar; as if it wasn't annoying as hell, anyway, how you never could figure it out until you bit into it – that freaking heart box candy – if it had nougat in it, as if nougat didn't ruin perfectly good chocolate, anyway, as if you could even put it back into the box after you'd tried it, the little nougat ones – at least, without hearing all about it.

"What's McDreamy doing for it this year?" Alex grumbled. Not that he cared. But he wasn't doing it, dinner or dancing or flowers or candy, and he had to do something about it – at least, to hear all the gossipy nurses tell it – as if she didn't know it all already, April, whatever it was he was supposed to tell her with dead plants or weird little chocolates or sappy cards or whatever the hell else it was they sold – whoever was raking in all that money off of it – the freaking fake holiday.

"He said it's a surprise," she replied casually, flipping through the pages. "But I'm sure it involves wearing heels. He's really into it."

"Wearing heels?" Alex snickered, popping the lid off his soda and gnawing on his ice.

"You have no idea what you're doing for it," she noted, narrowing her eyes and smirking at him.

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, crumpling up his napkin and setting her empty tray under his. It wasn't like it would be any fun, anyway, he imagined, whatever McDreamy was planning, since it probably involved moon light and fancy wine glasses and all that white knight crap, since it always looked like that on the cover of those chick books April read – which were probably written by the same people selling all the other fake Valentine's Day crap, when you got right down to it.

"She's like the go to chick in trauma," he added, scowling again. "How could see be so into blood and gore and still be so-" he stammered, struggling for words.

"Into it?" she filled in, "the whole Valentine's Day thing?"

"Yeah," he muttered, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Derek's the same way," she agreed, nodding sympathetically. "I just go along with it. It's one day. It makes him happy."

"Cristina does the same thing," she added, almost giggling again. "Sometimes."

"Aren't her and Burke separated again?" he snickered.

"Not this week," Meredith corrected. "It's hard to keep up with," she admitted, nodding seriously. And it was, he knew, because her and Burke would be torturing each other forever, and it wasn't like it would stop, since it would require one of them to admit it– that they'd had enough – and it was going to be until death do we part with them, literally, since that's what it would take, really, to put an end to it, whatever it was they did or had when they were torturing each other with it or for it or about it.

"So I should just go with it?" he repeated, more to himself than to her, as if that was any help in him figuring out what to do about it. "The whole flowers and dinner and candy thing?" he added, almost scowling again.

"No," Meredith replied, shaking her head. "Make it special. Something you think she'd like; something that reminds you of her."

"Like a cake shaped like a brain?" Alex smirked. It was pretty clever, really – the cake McDreamy had gotten for Mere, to celebrate her becoming an Attending.

"It was very romantic," Meredith insisted, nodding happily as she polished off her yogurt. "It reminded me of his marriage proposal," she added, gathering her journal.

"That would involve costumes," he reminded her. "She's not into-"

"It doesn't have to be that literal," Meredith insisted, rolling her eyes at him.

"No," he agreed. "But it'd be more fun," he added, checking his pager as he stood.

"Does April know about it?" Meredith giggled, pushing her chair back and following him toward the door, "that you have a thing for Wonder woman?"

"She's cool with it," Alex retorted, rolling his eyes as he returned their trays and followed her into the hallway.

* * *

><p>It wasn't as bad as Go Carting with the kids, she admitted, smirking as he fished the tickets from his pocket, and it wasn't as sticky as the Carnival – and wouldn't result in them going home with a sickly cactus or an over-stuffed giraffe, most likely – she imagined, giggling as she accepted a brochure and a map from one of the guides, and it didn't involve rain gear, and she wouldn't have to hear about it – pinchy shoes or chocking neck ties – and he hadn't even suggested bringing Eric along with them this year, though he probably would've enjoyed it, she imagined – the Museum of Medical Oddities.<p>

It wasn't a cliché either, she told herself, as she peered into the curious displays, and she'd have to tell herself that repeatedly, she reminded herself, when she heard about it later that week, from Beth that she'd spent it in Paris, Valentine's Day, from Dani, that she and Neil had done it in the Statue of Liberty to celebrate, from Cari, that it had been wonderful – her candle lit dinner with the new senior surgeon in Cardio at Seattle Presbyterian, from Jenny that he'd done it again, the gorgeous new partner in her law firm, sent her a lush bouquet of red roses, and a bottle of her favorite champagne to go along with it.

She'd hear all about it from the pretty young nurses, too, she imagined – as she watched him eagerly poking at one of the hands-on exhibits, which, no, didn't look like proof of alien visitation no matter how the museum labeled it, the floating specimen of who knows what it was, anyway - about how it was make or break it for their boyfriends, about how it said it all about their relationships – about how it was going to be flowers and candy and dinners and dancing for them – or it just wasn't going to work it out.

Not that it mattered, anyway, she imagined a few days later, because it was more staff shortages and more budget cuts and another day of sleeting rain and it was just non-stop, the slips and falls and car accidents filling up her department and it was three eighteen hour shifts in a row and she just didn't want to think about it, any of it, since it was finally Friday and that was all she would say about it.

It was nearly 1 a.m., too, when she finally pulled into the long driveway, and just rolled her eyes at it, the inevitable pizza boxes stacked by the recycling bucket, and she was fairly sure she could still smell it, the extra peperoni and cheese and cheddar gold fish and M&M that was Eric's and Alex's favorite, and she was sure she saw it on one of the labels, the vegan Hawaiian one that was Abbey's favorite – probably because it was Beth's, too – though neither of them was vegan or Hawaiian.

It was too late to think about it, though, she reminded herself as she strode into the kitchen and shrugged off her coat, and she wouldn't even look at it, the sink, until she'd made her tea, and it was all she could imagine doing, setting the kettle on, before she scaled the stairs and finally got out of it, the skirt that had been suffocating her all afternoon. It was all the new Dry Cleaner's fault, she thought – snickering to herself – and the skirt just got tossed into the hamper, along with the bra that had been digging into her, and it all just followed, her whole outfit as she scrounged the closet for it, her yellow "don't even think about it, tonight" robe which pretty much said it all.

She just scowled at it, the pile of dishes in the sink, since it wasn't like her surgeon husband or her son the budding engineer or her daughter the style maven could ever figure out how to work it – the dish washer – and it wasn't like she even wanted to think about it, the strawberry frozen yogurt that she'd been craving all day, and it was a solid minute of stirring her tea before it just became the hell with it – shrunken skirt or not – and she was hauling it out of the freezer.

It was all his fault, she grumbled, as she dropped onto the end of the couch opposite where Alex was laying, rolling her eyes at the ring of Vanilla around Winston's muzzle as he sprawled on the floor beside him. The strawberry was his fault, too, April reminded herself, licking her spoon and shaking her head at it, the documentary about possible Loch Ness type monsters in Elliot Bay, as if she hadn't spent nearly an hour with Eric's first grade teacher years before, assuring the woman that where ever he was getting it – about the possible river monsters that had once roamed Seattle – she'd at least get Eric to stop bringing it into her classroom, the "bones" from the creek in their back yard that supposedly proved it.

It was all his fault, too, she imagined, as she set her dish on the coffee table, though they'd hear about it, too, the Dry Cleaners about her shrunken skirt, and the bra company about their defective product – since it wasn't supposed to dig in like that even if it was a little tight – and it was all just annoying, she grumbled, as one "documentary" gave way to another, the one about the Martian boobs, no matter what he said about it, as if it really mattered who built the pyramids, when you got right down to it.

It was making her tired, anyway, all the thoughts racing through her mind, about all of it – the house and the budget cuts and the staff, and whether the girls were doing it, since it was really distracting, all the time the nurses spent talking about it, Valentine's Day – and she just lay across it, anyway, the couch, since it wasn't like it would wake him up, anyway, and it wasn't like he'd talk about it, anyway, and it wasn't like he wasn't probably deep into a pizza and chocolate coma, anyway.

It startled her anyway, though, the electric shiver that ran through as his arms closed sleepily around her, and it was probably just the static from the radioactive seaweed carpet, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like it mattered, anyway, since it wasn't happening that evening no matter what he said, and it wasn't like she couldn't still smell, the faint hint of peperoni and surgical soap and cheese and raked leaves and cheddar goldfish and deicing salt when he finally asked her: "How'd it go?"

It was muffled and mumbled and drowsy and she didn't even want to think about it, about the chaos at work and the mess in the sink and the piles of college catalogs coming for Abbey and the weird noise her car was making and it just all ran together as he tugged her closer, nuzzling her neck, and it just all began to fade into a darkening haze as his hands traced slowly along her back.

It wasn't going to work on her, either, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing as she sank into his body, because it was still full of dishes, the sink, and it wasn't like it worked on her, the way he was kneading lazily down her spine, and it was his own damn fault that he wore those freaking sweatpants, and it was his own damn problem, she insisted to herself, as she felt it wedge curiously against her.

She'd add it to her written complaint list, too, she insisted, almost squirming – the robe manufacturer, too – since it was supposed to be thick and cushy but it was still too thin for it, and it just made her shiver all over again, the way his hands brushed over it, though she could barely suppress it, anyway, the soft moan that escaped her as his fingers slipped over it, and it was all the bra maker's fault, again, too, since it wasn't like she'd be dissolving into his hands like that if it hadn't been digging into her all day.

It was all his fault, too, she reminded herself, since she was sure she could feel it, that sleepy, pouty smirk of his glancing across her cheek, and it was all his doing, the soft sighing that followed it, since it wasn't like she'd known it at the time, the first time they'd ever done it, that it would have that effect on her, the way his impossibly warm fingers lingered over them – even if they weren't Martian, no matter what the Discovery Channel might say – and it wasn't like she wouldn't have hidden it from him better, she imagined, as his hands slowed further, that it just sank her into a dreamy, gauzy stupor.

It was all his fault, too, she imagined, whatever it was that she was completely dissolving into, as his hands continued to wander, since it had all just washed away, again – the budget cuts and the staff squawking and the nurses chattering and the dishes – and it had all just settled into the steady rise and fall of his chest and it had all just faded into the background – and it was all just wrapping around her, whatever it was that simmered against her as he dozed.

It figured, too, she thought with a smirk, that it was just resting peacefully against her, since it was how they'd always done it in on call rooms, where they never really did it at all, and she was sinking deeper into it, anyway, and it was heated and darkened and quiet, and it was nothing like how they'd done it on Valentine's Day – all the pretty young nurses, or even her sisters – even if it hadn't been flowers and candy and dinner and dancing, , as if it wasn't instead something else entirely, when it was the Museum of Medical Oddities and fried chicken from a street vendors cart and seven pink hydrangea bushes still in their big pots with a promise that he'd do it, plant them in her garden the week after it, after whatever it was supposed to be – Valentine's Day - to prove it, that it was always him, when she got right down to it.

* * *

><p>It came at 6:13 a.m on a drizzly March morning, the frantic call from Beth. It had been a mild heart attack, she insisted, at least, that was how April had translated it to Alex as she hurriedly packed her bags, and it was just a precaution, keeping her father in the hospital for a few days, and it was fine, he was fine, she was fine, and she absolutely didn't need it – for him to join her on her trip to Ohio – and it would make her feel much better, she insisted, if he stayed behind and took care of it, the house and the kids, while she flew home for a few days to be with her mother, and her sisters, and to just get a handle on it, all of it.<p>

He just nodded blankly, still trying to clear his head as she settled on it – her flight number and when Beth would pick her up for their ride to the airport and whether they should dress for it, winter or spring, and she kept repeating it again and again, that she was fine with it, that she preferred it, that it just made more sense, since it wasn't like they could pull the kids out of school for it.

It was over before he knew it, the whirlwind morning, and it was clipped, positive explanations to Eric and Abbey, and it was pancakes and fruit for breakfast, and it was the usual dash for the school bus as it rolled up the road, and it all settled uncomfortably as he stared at it – the spot on the counter where April's bag always sat before she left for it, her early shift – and he had no idea what he was supposed to do about it, exactly, a mild heart attack, especially when he was over 2000 miles away from it.

He was doing it for April, though, Meredith reminded him two days later, as she slipped it into his hand, the phone and fax number for Yang's office, and he repeated it to himself as he pressed in the numbers, and he repeated it again as he listened to the connection form, and he just sighed when he heard it.

"You go back to medical school, Evil Spawn?" Cristina chortled, and it started all over again, the familiar whatever it was between them, and he just rolled his eyes as he scowled at it, her image forming on the screen.

"It's for April," he grumbled, scowling at her again. It was ridiculous, anyway, because Yang had already won awards for it, Cardio, and it was just a mild heart attack, and it wasn't like he was a consulting physician on it, anyway, her father's prognosis or care plan, and it wasn't like it was any of his business, technically, to send it along to an expert, especially since it was just a mild heart attack.

"She still married to you?" Yang snickered, moving away as she put the images he'd just faxed on her office scanner, adjusting their settings for a better look.

"You and Burke separated this week?" Alex retorted. It was a running joke, along the grape vine that stretched clear from Seattle to Yang's office in San Francisco, since it wasn't like Burke would ever propose again, and it wasn't like Yang was going anywhere near another wedding dress – not after that crap with Hunt. It wasn't like the two of them should even be living together, technically, though she'd starve if Burke didn't cook for he, at least, that's how Meredith explained it, in a way that he always thought sounded like she didn't understand it, either.

"I could send it to him." Alex added, raising his eye brows at her grainy image, since it wasn't like the two of still didn't compete over everything, and it wasn't like it wasn't just a matter of time – he had it on good authority – before one of them ended up chopped up in a freezer because of it, and Burke was good and all, but well, he was fairly sure it wasn't going to be Yang that got freeze dried, when it came right down to it.

"I'm better," she snapped immediately, reaching for a sheet of paper on her desk.

"So, is April still a virgin?" she taunted, snickering again as she made some notations on her clip board. "You know, those little blue pills work wonders."

"Burke wouldn't need them if you'd let him be on top every now and then," Alex insisted sarcastically. And he wouldn't, if he did – need them, that was – since it wasn't like it could be easy, doing it with Yang while she cackled and howled and called out instructions, doing it exactly as she demanded, at least, that was how he remembered it, the day he'd over heard them doing it in an on call room, as if that was even the place to be doing it at all, if you were going to do it that freaking loud.

"Is this a trauma patient?" Cristina asked, suddenly all business as she scanned the image more closely.

"No," Alex admitted reluctantly. It was crazy, it really was, to be doing it, having her look it over, since it had just been a mild heart attack, and it wasn't like April had asked him to, and it wasn't like it needed it, the diagnosis, since really all it indicated was that he needed to eat less sausage – not that that wouldn't suck, since it was pretty good, the way her mother made it – but it wasn't like it warranted it, a consult with "the foremost Cardio-thoracic surgeon on the West Coast, possibly in the country," at least, to hear Yang tell it.

"It's April's father," he added finally, since it wasn't like it could be any more a breach of confidentiality than it was already. "He had a heart attack."

"It must've been pretty mild," Cristina insisted, scowling at the picture.

"It wasn't to April," Alex muttered, stuffing his hands in his lab coat, though he wasn't exactly sure of it, since it wasn't like she'd said anything, exactly, and it wasn't like she was freaking out about it like he expected her to, and it wasn't like her and her sisters hadn't already gone to it twice – her favorite mall near her mother's house –and it wasn't like he had any idea what was going on with it, exactly, since it wasn't like he could do anything for it, or about it, when you got right down to it.

"He should cut out the bacon," Cristina announced flatly, pulling the scans down and shoving them in a large envelop.

"Sausage," Alex corrected, sighing and rolling his eyes again as he braced for it.

"She asked you to send this?" Cristina asked, glancing back up at him curiously as she scribbled some notes on the envelope.

"No," Alex grumbled, shoving his hands deeper into his lab coat pockets as he leaned back against the wall.

"Is she freaked out about it?" Cristina prodded, peering more closely at him.

"She's… in Ohio," he answered finally, as if that said it all.

"Does she even know that you sent it?" Cristina snickered, rolling her eyes at him.

"Does Burke know you were the one who put that dent in his new Mercedes?' Alex retorted, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

"How do you-" Cristina started, glaring back at him before smirking again.

"Tell "April" not to worry about it," she smirked, emphasizing her name, he was sure, just to rub it in.

"Right," Alex muttered, sighing again and rubbing his hands over his face as he tried to imagine it, what he was supposed to say, exactly, if she ever found out that he did it.

"Alex," Cristina called, peering closely at him again. "It's nothing," she emphasized, shaking her head. "Tell her not to worry about it," she added more softly, and it took him a moment or two to even realize it, after the call ended, that it was still weird sometimes when she did it, used his first name.

* * *

><p>It was fine, she insisted the day she got home, it was great, really – and she corrected it immediately, her use of the word, since "fine" always did it to him, set his nerves on edge, and it was a nice trip, she insisted, and her sisters were all – happy to be together – and her mother was – eating well – and her father was – cooperating with his doctors – and the farm was – being taken care of – and it had all been – like a vacation, really, and she was happy to be back to it – to work and to school and to the whole routine that she'd established before it, before her whole world changed in a wobbly heartbeat.<p>

It wasn't that she thought about it, she didn't, at least she tried not to, not that he was making it any easier, she grumbled, since he just kept doing it, stuffing the fridge with strawberry frozen yogurt, as if it wasn't wreaking havoc on her thighs – as if she hadn't just seen Aunt Edna – and digging holes for her spring bulbs like a demented gopher, as if she could even think about it, planting flowers, when it all just reminded her of her dad and how he used to do it, plant them for her mom, all along the long front porch, even when he really didn't have the time for it.

It wasn't like she thought about it at all, she reminded herself the following week, since she didn't, and it wasn't like he wasn't fine, and it wasn't like she hadn't seen it herself, the most recent lab work on his blood, and it wasn't like he wasn't following his new diet, and it wasn't like he wasn't taking his meds, and it wasn't like there'd be any more to it, since it hadn't been serious in the first place.

It hadn't been serious at all, she reminded herself, early the following month, too, and it was nothing like the coronary code she'd worked just that morning – the one that had started out with everything under control, and which had ended with her doing it again, talking to another sobbing widow, and another squirming bewildered son, about how it had all been fine just that morning, and about how it had all been fine when he got to the hospital – their husband, and father – and about how it had all gone wrong in a heartbeat.

It had been nothing like that, she insisted, as she listened closely to her mother's every remark, for signs that he wasn't doing it, eating right or exercising, or taking his pills, and to her father's every breath, for signs of it, wheezing or tightness, not that she expected it – she reminded herself – since she saw it every month, the medical up dates from her father's cheerful general cardiologist, not that it didn't make her a little suspicious, since it wasn't like cardio types were usually that pleasant, though to be fair, she was basing her opinion largely on how Cristina would handle it.

Not that she hadn't already, Arpil grumbled to herself, as she thought about it again, and she'd never get it, really, how it could possibly have seemed like a good idea to him to do it – to send it to her, his father's scan, since it would just end up all over the grapevine, as if that wasn't the last thing she needed – more people speculating about it, and asking her about it, and offering her advice about it, as if she wasn't a freaking doctor herself, as if she wasn't the go to chick for all her father's medical decisions at the moment, as if Cari hadn't done it, too – gone to med school – as if it wasn't really her mother's job, to decide it all for him if he couldn't, as if it made any sense at all, since it wasn't even serious.

It wasn't serious at all, she insisted, and she'd think about it instead, about the flood of college catalogs that poured into the house for Abbey, and it would distract her – Abbey's apparent desire to flee at the first sign of day light – from the envelop from the adoption agency that would arrive soon, with the forms that would prompt her to do it, April was sure, to track down her biological parents, since it wasn't like Abbey could resist it, anything that had to do with roots and history and family.

It made perfect sense, April reminded herself wryly late that April, as she planted a new row of hydrangeas, since Abbey had been uprooted plenty as a kid. It wasn't like she'd talk her out of it, she wouldn't, and it wasn't like she'd let Alex meddle in it – like he had with her father scan's – no matter how much he enjoyed it, his and Abbey's pancake breakfasts, on the weekends when it was just the two of them and whatever it was that triggered their warped senses of humor, judging by the noise of it.

She wouldn't let Alex discourage it, April reminded herself, as she shoved a small bush more vigorously into one of the holes he'd dug weeks before, back when he was still doing it – the whole crazy beaver thing – and it was fine, all of it, whether he liked it or not, and it would be fine, all of it – the girls and the college catalogues and Eric's sudden infatuation with grunge music, or at least, maybe just with the girls down the street who played it – she couldn't quite tell – and it would all be fine, and he didn't even have to ask anyone else about it, she insisted, even if that someone else was the foremost cardio-thoracic surgeon on the west coast, possibly even in the country, at least, to hear Cristina tell it.

* * *

><p>It stopped him almost mid bite, her throat clearing growl as she glowered at him, as he popped the box back into the freezer.<p>

"I left plenty of strawberry," he grumbled, scowling baffled as she rolled her eyes at him.

"You eat too much junk food," she snapped, pulling the box back out and running her fingers down the nutrition label. "It's on the list," she added, pointing seriously to the small print.

"For your dad," Alex agreed, nodded smugly. "I don't think it'll hurt him if I have some," he added, running his hand over Winston's head as he placed the dog's nightly bowl of vanilla down beside him.

"Maybe you should ask Cristina about it", she grumbled under her breath as he walked from the room.

He just didn't get it, why she was still harping on it, since it wasn't like it had hurt her father any to get it, a second opinion, and it wasn't like she hadn't sworn up and down since the moment she got back that it was just so minor it wasn't even worth it, medically – her hauling all the way to Ohio for a few days.

It wasn't like he didn't get it, when she went back to visit them again the week before just to check on it, that it wasn't like she'd just forget about it – since it was her father, and he still didn't get how she wasn't panicked about it – but it wasn't like he'd said anything, and it wasn't like he hadn't dug a whole mob of holes for her weeds, and it wasn't like he freaking ate it, her strawberry frozen yogurt, and it wasn't like Yang hadn't confirmed just what she'd been saying all along anyway, that it was minor.

It was making him crazy though, he muttered to Pecans as he plopped down beside her on it, the plush couch, because no matter how often she said it, that it was great, she just kept picking at it, the college catalogues that Abbey was getting- and Abbey's relentless hinting at it, that she wanted a car – and Eric's sleep away ski camp and Katie's summer plans – as if it wasn't freaking sweet, getting to spend it interning in LA – and how he dug it out of the frozen yogurt box, all the chocolate, as if she ate any kind but the strawberry, anyway, and as if he could help it, that her Aunt Edna had those curvy hips, which he freaking liked anyway, when you got right down to it.

It was crazy, he grumbled to Pecans again, placing his empty bowl on the coffee table as he lay down, and sighing as she stretched purring beside him, and it wasn't like he could do anything about it, about Abbey's nagging for a car or Eric's snow board obsession or Katie's latest burning desire - to be a great nature photographer – at least that week, since it had been meteorology just the week before, after she'd changed her major again, from archeology – or was it anthropology – to cartography, or maybe climatology, or… something that started with a letter in the first half of the alphabet, he thought, not that it would matter, since she'd span clear through them all to zoology before she was finished, at least, that was how Abbey put it as she giggled about it.

It was crazy, he muttered, as his eyes fluttered tiredly, as Pecans burrowed into it, his sweatshirt, and it was crazy, he reminded himself over the following month, and it was crazy, he complained to Meredith a week later – though she swore it made perfect sense to her, that April would swear it was all perfect even if she was terrified about it, about her father's health and Katie's summer in LA and Abbey's car and Eric's snow-boarding and how it was getting a little thicker around the middle, Meredith added, giggling as she poked a finger gently into it, his tightening scrub top, as if he couldn't drop a few pounds any time he wanted, the minute he put his mind to it.

* * *

><p>It was probably a plot, April smirked, as she watched through the kitchen window as Abbey worked meticulously over her pottery wheel on it, whatever it was she was probably making for Alex, since it was only two weeks before Father's Day. Not that she really believed it, she reminded herself, that it was a plot – no matter how hard Abbey lobbied for it, a car of her own – because it had been like this for as long as April could remember, Abbey trying to come up with it, the ultimate gag gift.<p>

It had to be genetic, she'd found herself thinking more than once – except that it couldn't be – and it still stung sometimes when she caught it, not that it mattered, since it wasn't like the girls were any less her daughters, and it wasn't like Abbey would love Alex less if she thought about it much, that it wasn't genetic, whatever it was that left them both cackling and hooting and hollering in front of the television even as April just rolled her eyes, since she just didn't get it, whatever it was they were laughing at, and it wasn't like it was just genetic anyway, she reminded herself, since Eric had it too, apparently, though usually she just tried to forget it, anyway.

It wasn't genetic, she reminded herself, as she glanced wistfully at it again – the latest envelop from the adoption agency. But it was like it all over again, the hesitancy April felt when she even tried to talk with Abbey about it – about her doing it for the first time – and it just left her tongue tied and jittery all over again, and it was worse, really, since it wasn't like Abbey could un do it – that she'd already done it – but it was like a ticking time bomb right in the mail box on their kitchen counter, the form that would allow her to get it, the information she'd need to track down her biological parents, if she wanted it.

She hadn't said anything about it, though, April reminded herself - not that it made any sense – since Abbey was all about it, about tracing family trees and tracking down old photos and imagining it, what it had been like decades before, and it was all Alex's fault, April thought wryly, since he'd dragged it all down from the attic – the antique writing desk and the tops of the Victorian day bed and the box of old brass frames, left behind by the house's prior owners – and that was all Abbey had needed to conclude that it was her job, apparently, to preserve all of it.

It was his fault, too, April imagined, since he was the one who toted Mrs. DuBois home, and he was the one who scared up the antique hurricane lamp, and he was the one who descended from hard scrabble Russian immigrants who settled Iowa, at least to hear Abbey tell it. Not that it wasn't contagious, she added with another smirk, since sometimes she could swear Alex had come to believe it too, and even to take pride it, not that it would surprise her, since it wasn't such a leap from the women who built the Pyramids, apparently after coming all the way from Mars to make their boob job appointments.

It was all his fault, she imagined, that Abbey was who she was, and it was great – it was – that they had it, their morning breakfasts, and it was great that Abbey had it with Beth, too, her love of photography, and it was great that Abbey was getting along better with Katie now – even if it had taken a little space between them – and it was great, it was, that she'd have her choice of it, basically, any college she wanted, and it was great that she wouldn't have to worry about it– like Katie had, even if she'd never admitted it – and it was great that she seemed ready for it, whatever it was she was about to face.

She'd always thought it would be different though, April admitted, as she peered out across the yard again. She'd had it all figured out, once upon a time, that Katie would be like Alex, and Abbey would be like her, and Abbey would be the one who got straight A's, like her – which she was. She just hadn't counted it on it, though, that Abbey would be the one with all the friends and the parties and the year book and the sewing club, and that Abbey would be the one who could do it – throw together a stylish outfit for anything in a heartbeat, and that Abbey would be the one who did it before she was even a senior in high school, and that Abbey would be the one for whom it really wasn't that big a deal, when she got right down to it, doing it for the first time.

It still threw her a little bit, April admitted, since it was the last thing she expected, and it still threw her sometimes, she admitted, that it reminded her of it all over again – that it wasn't genetic – even if it was Alex's sense of humor all over again, and even if it was Beth's breezy confidence and bubbling social life and brilliance with a camera all over again, and even if it had been over a decade since Abbey had done it, proudly scrawled Abbey Karev on her drawings until it became second nature to her.

She remembered the first time Abbey did it, too, April reminded herself with a smirk, right there in the judge's office, burrowed into Alex's jacket as if she was oblivious to it – his trembling hands and his shaky voice and his bewildered eyes - as if it was the most normal thing in the world, to claim it just by signing her name – her father's heart – while splitting her animal crackers with him.

She wished he'd get it, too, April reminded herself wryly, that it wasn't jabout the extra padding around his midsection – the nagging she'd been doing about fruits and vegetables and cutting back on it, the frozen yogurt – that it was about his health, that it was about Abbey and Katie and Eric, since he'd signed it, too, the paper that spelled it all out, that it wasn't just words on paper no matter what the agency or the law might say about it.

He didn't actually have to get it on Father's day exactly, though, she thought, watching wryly as Abbey unveiled it, her latest creation, and as Katie showed it off, her latest report card, and as Eric eagerly dug into it – the cake the kids had made for it, which had six layers and at least three different kinds of icing, at least, as far as she could tell, just by biting into it, not that it was the only center of attention at their little barbecue, anyway, since much of it was going to the wiggling, tail wagging, bright eyed new Corgi that Abbey and Katie had brought home from the rescue shelter just in time for it.

It wasn't a Winston replacement, they kept assuring him – as Alex eyed it suspiciously – even though the kids had already named it Churchill, and it was too the same breed as Winston had been, even if it did have such distinctive markings, and she still wasn't sure that she should have approved it, their plot – plan, she corrected herself immediately, almost wincing, plan – not that she disagreed with it, how Abbey had wheedled her into it, that it might help Alex to deal with it better, Winston's death, even if he still denied it loudly and crankily and tersely, that it was bothering him at all, but it might help a little with it, the absence of Winston, which had been making him grumpy and gloomy and snarky for weeks, as the vanilla frozen yogurt still piled up in the freezer like a vigil, even if he wouldn't admit it.


	20. Chapter 20

It was all a plot, he was sure, muttering to himself as he parked and follow Abbey onto it, the car lot, on a warm July evening. It had to be after work, she'd insisted, since she was doing it again this summer, helping Beth at her in-home photography studio – since she'd need it, the job to earn gas money – and it was all about distracting him from it, her talk about graduating early from high school, and heading off to it in January, the University of California at Irvine, as if it was the greatest thing she could imagine – joining the Fighting Ant Eaters – as if that even made sense, to have a school mascot that didn't even have teeth, not that the school even had it, he reminded himself, a Division 1 wrestling team.

He couldn't even snark on it, though, the mascot, when she'd eagerly pulled on her first school sweatshirt after she'd come back from visiting it, because she just looked as excited as Winston used to when he heard the cheese doddle bag rustle, and it was always like that with her – it was bright blue skies and gardens full of spring flowers and bubbling laughter as she ran her fingers through her long sun streaked auburn hair, and he just couldn't stop it, the way his throat clenched and his hands trembled and his stomach fluttered and his breath caught when she excitedly asked him "How's it look?"

It looked like she was leaving, he'd wanted to say. It looked like she was racing off to California – to the beaches and the ocean and the sunsets and the classes and the internships that would make her into it, whatever it was that she was going to be wonderful at – because it was the only thing he'd been sure of at the moment – that she'd be awesome at it, whatever it was she was dreaming about as she did it, gathered her camera equipment or wrapped Mrs. DuBois in new fabric or traced her paint brushes across it, the big empty canvases he lugged home in his convertible, which always came to life with it, whatever it was she was dreaming about, as if she never had a doubt in the world, that whatever it was she wanted she could create it, if she just gave it a shot.

It was always like that with her, he remembered, even if it was full of antiques – her room – it was all about the future, and she talked about it as if it was already there – her new classes and her new friends and her new car and her new life – as if she could already feel it all, as if it wouldn't all be even better than whatever had come before it, as if it was just the most obvious thing in the world, to jump head long into it – because it was going to be awesome – as if she couldn't even imagine it any other way.

He'd wanted to tell her that, too, once or twice, maybe even times a thousand or two, just so she'd be ready for it, in case it didn't work out, whatever it was she was hoping for. It always just curdled in his throat, though, when his eyes met hers, and it always just churned, his stomach, and it always oddly tightened, his chest, and he could feel it all pressing in on his ribs – even if it was probably just April making him paranoid, since it wasn't like her father getting a pace maker was affecting the electrical impulses in his own body, no matter what she said about it – and it all just crumbled into a jumbled heap when Abbey grabbed his hand and dragged him over to it, announcing gleefully "I love it!"

It was the last thing he expected – not that he hadn't learned it the first time, since he'd never expected it back then, either, Katie's infatuation with a little pink girly bug car. But he'd expected it from Abbey, at least, that she'd want something sporty or curvy, something that might look like it could be in one of those fancy European photography magazines Beth kept around her house – the magazines that Abbey shouldn't even be looking at, really, judging from how some of the male models were dressed, or not, when you got right down to it – maybe even a convertible, with head room for Mrs. DuBois, since for all he knew she was heading off to it, too, UC Irvine, though he wasn't paying extra tuition for her, no matter what April might say about it.

"You like this?" Alex asked, vaguely baffled.

Not that it wasn't a great choice – it was – and he was thrilled with it, since it was as sturdy as a tank, just judging from the looks of it, and it would drive awesome in the snow, if it ever snowed near the beaches in California, and it would just plow through the sand if she ever got lost in it, the deserts a thousand miles southeast of the campus. It had a GPS system to prevent it, anyway, her wandering into old volcano craters or treacherous mountain passes, and he'd been dreading it all day – the discussions they'd need to have about it, about side air bags and anti-lock brakes and lane changing motion sensors, since it was better for insurance purposes, he'd remind her, all the latest safety features – since he doubted she'd be practical about it, if she fell in love with it, a car that was low and sleek and sporty and just not right for her even if it would look great in one of those photo shoots, but which was all flash and no substance when you got right down to it.

"I love it," she repeated, nodding eagerly, squeezing his hand more tightly, and he just breathed a sigh of relief as he followed her into the office. It wouldn't have worked anyway, he reminded himself wryly as he settled into a chair, his reasoning – if she had picked something crazy – because it was like freaking kryptonite to him – her breathless, eager "Can I, dad?" and it just set his stomach to fluttering all over again, her giddy, beaming smile as the salesman handed the keys to her – for her gleaming silver Jeep – and it was all just pressing in on his ribs all over again as her arms circled him fiercely and she whispered it into his ear again, "Thanks, dad."

He'd hear about it, too, he imagined, trying to catch his breath as he watched her bounce into her new SUV, from April, that it was extravagant – even if they had done it for Katie, too, twice, if you couny the rebuild – and he'd hear it again, he imagined, his hands still trembling on the steering wheel as he watched her pull out of the dealership, that he was spoiling her – as if it didn't make freaking sense, to get something new, with all the latest safety features, even if they had technically agreed on it, that a used car might be more practical for her first. But it wasn't like you didn't get to have a first car more than once, anyway, and it wasn't like he wanted her to have a crappy death trap, like the one he'd driven all through his internship, and it wasn't like they didn't have the money, and it wasn't like he didn't' want it to be special for her, since it was her first time, getting a car and all.

It wasn't like April should talk, anyway, he reminded himself, rolling his eyes as he pulled into the driveway and it bounded him toward him like it always did, the Winston wanna-be with the squeaky mail box toy always dangling from his mouth – since it wasn't like she'd exactly cleared it with him either, the kids bringing home yet another freaking dog, and it wasn't like it was anything like Winston, anyway – even if it was a Corgi, at least, to hear the rescue staff tell it. It was probably just a con, anyway, he smirked, rolling his eyes as he tossed the mail box toward the stream – as if it even made sense, to play fetch with a squeaky red mail box – as if Winston would've ever played fetch at all, without some serious bribery – since it wasn't like anyone else would adopt it, he imagined, since it was only a "Corgi" if that word was short for sixteen shades of brown, or maybe applied only to the type of internal organs it had – and was invisible to the eye.

It was stupid, anyway, the name Churchill, not that Winston would've minded, he thought, glancing over to the spot under the tree by the stream where he was buried – always one of Winston's favorites – since he did have a pretty good sense of humor, "like a Corgi" should he reminded Churchill again, as if it even mattered, since it wasn't like he believed it anyway, not after he'd seen it, Churchill eagerly lapping up all three flavors of frozen yogurt mixed together, and begging for more, as if it never freaking occurred to him to have some pride.

At least Nicholas liked it, though, he reminded himself, smirking as the dog toddled happily back to him, waving his grubby mail box like a trophy, and it wasn't like Gracie or Tobey or Pancakes seemed to mind it, even if it was still a freaking zoo, when you got right down to it, and it wasn't the kid's fault that Amber's new apartment didn't allow it, any kind of dog, and it wasn't the kid's fault that his mother's new job at Seattle Presbyterian had gone and upended it – the kid's whole freaking life, basically – and it wasn't like April wasn't at it again, inviting Amber to dinner and to her sisters' and out shopping and whatever else they did when he was elected to do it – baby-sitting – as if she'd run that by him either.

Churchill wasn't bad at it, though, he admitted – hunting creek monsters – and it wouldn't affect Nicholas' science education any more than it had Eric's, as if April hadn't noticed that Eric would be starting at it in the fall, the gifted High School for Math and Science, and she hadn't noticed it either, he imagined – that the kid was freaking five, and that they'd have all winter for it, Legos, and that it wasn't usually that warm – or dry – even in the summer, even if it was a little messy, granted, the mud they tracked through the kitchen, since that's just what happened when you did it, tracked creek monsters.

* * *

><p>"I really appreciate it," Amber repeated, handing April Nicholas' dinosaur backpack as the little boy glanced shyly up at her, giggling and wide eyed and gap toothed as he glanced eagerly toward it, the long hall way that led to the lower level steps.<p>

"You know where it is," April told him, nodding happily as he made a bee line toward it, while April toted his little bag into the kitchen.

"He loves Legos." Amber said.

"So does Alex," April laughed, grabbing her purse and her keys. "I think he likes having someone to play with. Eric's not really into it, anymore."

"He grew out of it," Amber replied with a shrug, sizing up the latest photos on the fridge, of Eric with his snow board, and Abbey with Mrs. DuBois, and Katie on the ski slopes at Tahoe, and Nicholas in April and Alex's backyard, taken the first weekend he'd stayed with them overnight after they'd moved to Seattle, several months before.

"Eric, yes," April agreed, as they popped into her car to drive over to Beth's, "Alex, no."

"It's really nice of Beth to help me, too," Amber added, as they rolled up her driveway.

Of course it was, April imagined, since Beth was stylish and fun, and Beth had the exotic job and the mansion on the landscaped lot – with no creek monsters streaking across her back yard, apparently, and no muddy foot prints tracking through her pristine kitchen, as if Alex and Nicholas would even know what to do with it if they ever caught one, when you got right down to it.

It would be high school all over, April imagined, since Beth would be the pretty and the popular and the fashionable one who got invited first to all the great parties, and April would be the one who hid behind the punch bowl hoping no one would ask her to do it – to dance or to kiss or to talk or to … to… do any of it, whatever it was you were supposed to do in high school, if you didn't want it to suck completely.

"I don't really know where to start. Decorating's never really been my strong point. I love your kitchen, though," Amber noted, nodding thoughtfully, as if she were picturing it.

"It's always a mess," April remarked, shaking her head as she parked and trying not to picture it herself, the inevitable pile of dishes that would greet her, since the creek monsters tended to devour whatever lunch Amber had packed for Nicholas, making it inevitable – the emergency call to the pizza place – and it wasn't like you could just have pizza without frozen yogurt, and it wasn't like the dogs didn't need to get into the act, too, and it wasn't like an accomplished surgeon with double board certification in Peds and Neo Natal could be expected to master the complexities of the freaking dishwasher.

"It always looks homey," Amber shrugged.

The phrase puzzled April briefly. She'd heard it before, but coming from Beth she was fairly sure it meant "small and cramped," and coming from Dani she was fairly sure it meant "lacks polished granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances," and coming from Cari she was fairly sure it meant "looks just like mom's, or worse, aunt Helen's," and coming from Jenny she was fairly sure it meant "why not just go out to dinner" and from her mother she was fairly sure it meant "too many crumbs in the sink."

"Nicholas says you make the world's best pancakes," Amber added ruefully.

"That's Abbey," April laughed, shaking her head. "She makes them with faces on them."

"For Eric?" amber asked, puzzled again.

"And Alex," April added, laughing again. "It's a tradition."

"That's what I want for my apartment," Amber said quietly, "for Nicholas. I want to settle down. I want him to feel like it's, like it's our home."

"I'm sure we'll make it look great," April assured her, smiling as they greeted Beth, who climbed into the car before they all took off for the mall. "You think Nicholas would like a dinosaur themed room?"

"Abbey and I could do a mural," Beth volunteered, snapping her seat belt into place.

"You realize my sisters are going to spoil him rotten?" April prodded, glancing at Amber as they pulled into the mall parking lot.

"He's adorable," Beth protested, nodding happily as she led them to the toy shop that wasn't on their "to do" list at all, at least, not as far as April understood it.

"Don't let the sweet little face fool you," Amber corrected, her eyes widening, as Beth searched a display of nearly life sized plush dinosaurs.

"He's too young for you," April teased, nudging Beth playfully as she grabbed a hulking triceratops.

"I'm his aunt," Beth scoffed, almost as if horrified, as she piled the triceratops next to the brachiosaurus, indicating to the salesperson that she'd take it, too.

"I'm his aunt," April corrected, rolling her eyes at Beth, who was busily signing it, the printed receipt, and arranging for the sales manager to hold it for her, the whole herd.

"And your my sister," Beth pointed out, in response to two baffled glances, as they wandered over to the housewares shop. "It all adds up."

"It does?" Amber asked, eying April hesitantly as April gathered it – dish towels and pot holders and an old fashioned sign with "Bless This Happy Home" printed on it.

"That's how we do it," April nodded, plopping a ceramic apple cookie jar into their cart, and a set of colorful storage canisters, and some drinking glasses that would be unbreakable, and were well shaped for little hands, and cookie baking sheets, and it wasn't like it could be a home without it, a griddle pan.

"In Ohio," she added, in response to Amber's curious glance, as she moved onto it, the section over run with rich, warm autumn colored throws for the couches, and plush pillows for when Nicholas watched his cartoons, and a throw rug that could survive spills, she reminded herself, almost giggling as she thought about it, that it was a good thing Alex wasn't there, or he'd definitely pick it – the purple and brown and yellow monstrosity slumped sheepishly against the wall as if even it knew it, that it just wasn't any color a carpet should be, even if at least one sucker might come along and toss it into an open topped convertible, just because it was cushy.

"It is?" Amber asked curiously, watching as April moved on to comforter sets for the bedrooms.

"Of course it is," Beth agreed, nodding approvingly at a floral set before moving on to the children's section.

"That's kind of expensive," Amber noted hesitantly, following Beth along the row of shelves.

"It's perfect," Beth insisted, shaking her head as she hoisted the puffy package up.

"It's her biological clock," April noted, motioning with her eyes toward Beth, as Beth surveyed the label.

"Never going to happen," Beth smirked, happily placing the brightly colored dinosaur comforter set into her cart. "I like it better this way," she added smugly, surveying a brontosaurus shaped lamped with a night light option, and a bendable neck, and all the latest child safety features.

"What did she mean by that?" Amber asked quietly, watching as Beth moved on to shower curtains.

"It means she gets to spoil him," April muttered, watching her sister's shopping spree continue, "and then send him home to you."

"I'm his aunt," Beth reminded them, smiling happily as she held it up triumphantly, the safety glass light bulb she'd been hunting for to go with the lamp.

Beth would spoil him, too, April thought with a smirk – as she watched her sister drag out her credit card again – because it was always like that with her. It was always extravagant gifts and fun sleepovers and exotic souvenirs and amazing photos and exciting stories of world travels for Katie and Abbey and Eric – even if they had finally realized it, she reminded herself with a smirk, that she wasn't actually a spy, no matter what Alex said about it. It was just who she was, and it wasn't like she was ever going to change, and it wasn't like Nicholas couldn't use it, either, she imagined, since Amber had had it hard enough, being a single mother and all, even if she never complained about it.

It wasn't like she hadn't already apologized for it, though – for Abbey's nosy questions – since it wasn't really any of their business, whatever it was that went on with Nicholas' father, and it wasn't like she had to accommodate it, Abbey's elaborate family tree making, and it wasn't like she could stop herself from doing it again – apologizing - as they sat at the food court for lunch an hour later, after Beth had gone off in search of another coffee refill – as if she needed it.

"It's okay," Amber shrugged. "I get it. It's probably the foster kid thing," she added wryly, "and the missing dad thing. You wonder about it."

April just nodded, since there wasn't much she could say about it. She couldn't even imagine it, really, not knowing where her own dad was, of if he was still alive. Not that it would ever happen, since she still had it on speed dial, the number of every doctor he'd visited over the past year – not that it was at all comparable, really, since it wasn't like she'd grown up in it the way Amber had – the upended snow globe.

"I haven't even decided what I'm going to tell Nicholas about it," Amber added, shrugging reluctantly. "I was young, and naïve, and stupid," she continued with a smirk. "I was in nursing school, and he was a doctor. And married," she added, rolling her eyes. "It's like the ultimate cliché."

"Tell me about it," April agreed, almost wincing. It really was, too, she imagined, since people just did it like that in hospitals, as far as she could tell, as if it was no more important than brushing your teeth or combing your hair, as if it was as casual as pouring a cup of coffee, when you got right down to it.

"You, too?" Amber smirked, stirring more sugar into her tea.

"It was before I started seeing Alex," April agreed. "I thought it was the real thing," she added, rolling her eyes again. She had, too, she recalled wryly. She'd thought it made all the sense in the world, that a naïve thirty year old virgin would end up with a Knight in shining armor, even if it should've tipped her off right there, that they only ever did it in hotels anyway, or in the on call rooms.

"I thought it would change everything," Amber admitted reluctantly. "Not that it didn't," she smirked. "It just wasn't how I thought it'd be."

"It never is," April agreed. She'd thought that back then, too, she imagined, that it would be the whole freaking fairy tale.

"Have you talked to Abbey and Katie about it?" Amber asked, greeting Beth as she joined them again. "They're really pretty," she added, nodding seriously.

"Sex?" Beth asked, her ears perking up again.

"I've talked to them," April agreed hesitantly, ignoring Beth's amusement.

"Does she know," Beth teased, motioning with her eyes toward Amber as another smirk crossed her face.

"Do I know what?" Amber asked curiously.

April sighed and exhaled heavily, deciding how it would be easiest to kill Beth while making it look like an accident, not that she hadn't thought about it often over the years or anything, the benefits of a medical school education, when you had four annoying sisters who could seriously push you to the brink of it – murder – and she seriously doubted it at the moment, anyway, that any jury in the country would convict her for it, if they'd heard the whole long, drawn out history of it.

"She means I wasn't very experienced with it," April replied reluctantly, "before I started seeing Alex."

"Almost a virgin," Beth corrected, scanning the desert menu, and it just made it stronger, April noticed, those murderous impulses, since whatever it was that Beth ordered – a heaping slice of pie or a many layered cake or a triple fudge sundae – it would by-pass her body entirely, while it would cling to April's hips if she just took a whiff of it, since she was the only one of her sisters who got it, apparently, the gene that insisted it go straight to your hips once you ate it, even if it was just a salad.

"Really," Amber giggled, looking up from her cup. "So the married doctor was your first-"

"Yes," April sighed, rolling her eyes. "But we weren't talking about me. We're talking about the girls," she insisted, glaring sternly at Beth.

"I've talked to them," Beth agreed. "Abbey seemed to like it," she added, smirking again as April almost squirmed in her seat.

"Alex still doesn't know about it," she hissed, eying both of them carefully. "I plan to keep it that way."

"He wouldn't believe it anyway," Beth snickered, rolling her eyes. "He thinks Abbey walks on water. He doesn't even want her looking at European Vogue," she added, snickering. "As if there's anything in there she hasn't already seen," Beth chortled, rolling her eyes again.

"It's not like that," April insisted, exhaling heavily again. And it wasn't, exactly, since it wasn't like Katie was doing it – at least, not as far as she knew, since it wasn't like Katie would tell her about it – and it wasn't like Abbey was doing it in every airport that involved more than a two hour flight delay, at least, to hear Beth talk about it – and it wasn't like either of them was casual about it, at least, not the way people were about it in every hospital on the west coast, just judging from what Amber said about it, since it wasn't much different at Seattle Pres, apparently, than it was at San Francisco Memorial.

"It's just sex," Beth reminded her, shaking her head again. "You don't need to make such a big deal out of it."

"I don't even want to think about what I'm going to tell Nicholas about it," Amber volunteered, wide eyed and serious.

"Tell him to wait until he's thirty," Beth laughed, smirking at April again.

"Tell him not to do it with sex crazed photographers in airplane bathrooms," April retorted, staring at Beth's newly arrived plate, gazing longingly at her strawberry deluxe sundae.

"Don't be silly," Beth corrected smugly, as she passed spoons around to them. "It's terrible in those. No traction," she added, shaking her head as she dug into her sundae.

"You ever do it with cool whip?" April asked casually, smirking mysteriously at Beth's and Amber's shocked expressions as she dug into it, too, and reminding herself to stop by the grocery on the way home, since she and Alex had been running low on it.

* * *

><p>"Do you need anything else for it?" Alex asked absently, sorting through the other bills.<p>

It had been different with the girls' high schools, he remembered, since they'd stopped sending it by then, the list of whatever crap the kids would need for the school year. Not that he could imagine it, anyway, what the Science and Math Academy might want Eric to have, an electron microscope, maybe, or one of those calculators that could triangulate the planets. Whatever it was, Eric would get it, Alex reminded himself, because he wasn't going to be the kid who didn't have it – whatever it was the other kids had – and that wasn't spoiling him, no matter what April said about it.

"New drum sticks," Eric volunteered hopefully, eying the skillet as Abbey expertly flipped her signature pecan pancakes.

"For your Physics class?" Alex snorted, motioning toward it again, the course schedule that had just arrived in the mail.

"For Casey Detmeyer," Abbey corrected, laughing as she said it.

"I have Physics first period," Eric noted, scanning the paper, as he tried to ignore Abbey's commentary.

"Ouch," Abbey grimaced.

"Ugh," Alex scowled.

"Cool," Eric insisted, which he would, Alex knew, since it was all about math and science for him, and it was going to end up with engineering or biomechanics or architecture or something like that, and he just sighed quietly as he reminded himself of it, that at least it would be a whole school full of them – science nerds – so it wasn't like he'd get bullied or picked on for it.

""Dork," Abbey teased, sliding three pancakes onto Eric's plate.

"You're the one who makes clothes for headless French women," Eric retorted, smirking as he grabbed the syrup bottle.

"Dork's got a point," Alex agreed, watching avidly as his own pancakes were taking shape.

"Dork's got a crush on Casey Detmeyer," Abbey taunted, snickering again.

"Do not," Eric snorted, drowning his food in syrup.

"He thinks the drum sticks will impress her," she added, scooping up Alex's pancakes.

"Should have said so," Alex noted, pulling out his wallet as Abbey arranged his plate.

"I don't like her," Eric repeated, rolling his eyes.

"You want it or not?" Alex prodded, holding up a folded twenty dollar bill as he grabbed a fork.

"So, what," Eric snickered. "I get it if I'm trying to impress some stupid girl with it."

"It costs," Alex shrugged, reaching for the syrup bottle.

"What does?" Eric asked, staring puzzled at him.

"Girls," Alex grumbled, rolling his eyes as he thought about it.

"It does not," Abbey protested, sliding her own pancakes onto her plate. "You just need to do something romantic."

"I don't like her," Eric reminded her, motioning to Abbey that he'd like another plateful.

"Who?" April asked, entering the kitchen and heading straight for the coffee pot.

"Casey Detmeyer," Abbey filled in, pouring more batter on the skillet.

"He needs new drum sticks to impress her," Alex added, holding up the twenty again as he sipped his milk. It was as good a reason as any to give the kid twenty bucks, and it wasn't spoiling either, no matter what April said about it, because it always had a price – the chickl thing – and it wasn't like Eric could even compete if he wasn't able to pay it.

"He does not," Abbey insisted, shaking her head again as she flipped them again. "He just needs to do something romantic."

"Like what?" Eric snorted again, trying not to watch her too closely.

"Nothing dad would do," Abbey giggled, and Alex could almost hear it, April chortling about it, as if she hadn't loved it, their Valentine's Day trip to the Museum of Medical Oddities, even if the gift shop had been all sold out of their most popular key chain – the beating circulatory system, with the light up veins – though he had gone back three weeks later to get her one, since it was perfect for her collection.

"You want it or not?" Alex grumbled again, watching as Eric devoured his second plate of food.

"No," Eric insisted, staring at it longingly.

"Take it," Abbey sighed, piling the pots and dishes in the sink. "I'm going to the mall now. She might be there," she added, wiping off the counter and rinsing her hands.

"I don't like her," Eric insisted again, taking the twenty dollars as Abbey grabbed her purse.

"You're paying for gas, Romeo," Abbey taunted, as they walked out the kitchen door.

"You're going to have to do it, you know," April insisted, laughing as she watched him.

"Do what?" Alex scowled, glancing up from his plate.

"Teach him about it," April teased, motioning awkwardly with her hands.

"That's not how it's done," Alex snickered, pointing to her hand gestures as he dropped his glass in the sink.

"Not just that," April insisted, shaking her head. "You know, about it, girls," she added.

"I already told him it'll cost him," Alex smirked, sliding his arms around her as she teasingly tried to push him away. "Pretty much covers it."

"It does, does it?" she asked, sliding her arms around him. "So, what, now you're an expert on it?" she taunted.

"I am," he nodded smugly, nuzzling her neck.

"You're right," she giggled, sighing softly as she reached slowly around him. "It'll cost you."

"Really," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her as he eyed her up and down. "How much?" he asked, pulling his wallet out again.

"$3.45," she giggled, digging into the refrigerator and pulling out a can of whipped cream. "For a whole can of it," she added, spraying a fistful into his hand before fleeing the kitchen, laughing again.

"Bargain," Alex agreed, grabbing his wallet from the counter and chasing her up the stairs waving it.

* * *

><p>"Stand still," April repeated, biting her lip as she slid her arms around Alex's shoulders again. She was trying not to laugh at it, she was, but she just couldn't help it, since Abbey had obviously made it on Mrs. DuBois, Alex's Robin costume, and it was taking longer than she expected to adjust it, and it wasn't "like a freaking neck tie" no matter what he said about it, and she just couldn't help it, because it was the same pouty frown he used when she'd started trying to hide it, the frozen yogurt.<p>

"Is it okay?" Nicholas asked seriously, gazing up at her, wide eyed and serious in his Batman costume.

"It's good," Alex exhaled, sighing as April smirked at him from under her wide brimmed witch's hat.

"You both look great," April giggled, watching as Abbey arranged them for a photo.

She'd always loved it, Halloween, and she'd been happy to do it, keep Nicholas for a few days as Amber recovered from it, her minor foot surgery, and it was the best trick or treating neighborhood west of Ohio, she'd promised them. She'd been ready for it for weeks herself, after they'd done it – hung the giant spiders and laid out the graveyard lining the front porch and arranged the hanging skeletons along the rafters and filled the heaping cauldrons with candy – and the occasional severed rubber limb – and it was even better this year, since Eric and some of his friends had rigged the electrical Frankenstein scene, complete with zapping chair and giant moving rats and screeching cackles and dry ice mist, at least, that was what they said it was, and she was learning better than to ask about it – all the technical details – whenever two or more of Eric's friends were over to chatter excitedly about it.

"One more," Abbey called happily, from under her Mata Hari costume, "with the witch too, this time."

It was a running joke, April knew, between Abbey and Beth – ever since Alex had convinced the kids of it, that Beth was really a spy – and it wasn't like she hadn't given Abbey strict instructions about it, how to behave at Beth's party, and it wasn't like she had any doubts about it, that Abbey would enjoy it. It was just that she'd already done it once – April reminded herself, when Abbey had first asked if she could attend it – and it wasn't like Beth saw the big deal of it, apparently, since she did it as casually as they'd bobbed for apples or trick or treated when they were kids, when you got right down to it.

"I'm going," Abbey called moments later, loading up another memory chip in her purse and grabbing her keys. "I'll take lots of pictures."

"Don't forget your curfew," April called after her, because it wasn't like she hadn't been clear about it, that it still applied, even if it wasn't a school night, and really, she didn't want to think about it, what kind of pictures Abbey might come home with, since it wasn't like Beth did anything to hide it, how much she enjoyed taking those racy pictures for her European magazine clients, which really were pornography, when you got right down to it.

"We're going, too," Alex called, tugging awkwardly at the strings of his cape again as he pressed Nicholas' Batman trick or treating bag into the boy's hands.

"Is that warm enough?" April asked, stopping them before they got to the kitchen.

"Two layers of fleece," Alex pointed out, fingering the jacket under Nicholas' costume.

"It's going to be chilly tonight," April pointed out, checking Nicholas' attire for herself before slipping a finger under Alex's collar.

"It's tight enough," he grumbled impatiently, ushering Nicholas toward the door. "It's fine."

"You'll be cold," April warned, as they stepped through the door. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'm sure you'll remind me," Alex snickered, striding out into the driveway and down the long walk onto a street already teeming with ghouls and ghosts and other gap toothed little goblins.

At least he can't get many cavities, April giggled, glancing back at the refrigerator, to the photo that Abbey had already printed out before she left. Batman was all eyes and mask and three missing teeth in front, she noted, while Robin's combination shirt and cape was a little tight around the middle, probably from too many pancakes, she imagined, rolling her eyes – not that that was ever mentioned in the comic books – at least, not as far as she could remember it.

He'd be a little distracted from his crime fighting, too, April thought, as she answered the door time and again, because it was crystal clear and cool that evening, and a crisp breeze blew through the tree line looming in the distance – and he was going to be cold no matter how much he insisted on it, that it was all about mind over matter – and he was going to be shivering by the time they got back, no matter how much he tried to deny it. It was another reason, too, not to have worn it – as if it wasn't perfectly obvious – that that racy Wonder Woman costume he was still pushing for just wouldn't do it, since she could just imagine it, the cold breezes cutting right through it.

It was absurd, anyway, she reminded herself – as she happily dropped M&M packets and Crunch bars and Kit Kats into the avidly clutched bags of little mermaids and cowboys and pirates and robots – since it would just feature her fleshy hips, and it would just high light her flabby thighs, and she didn't even want to think about it, how much it would hurt – squeezing her Martian boobs into those hard plastic cones. It was absurd, anyway, since she'd always loved it – the Witch costume that she'd had for years - even if her family thought they were all being so funny about it – when they pointed out that she wasn't exactly making a fashion statement with the rest of it either – her perfectly sensible wardrobe – not that she still didn't envy it sometimes, how Mrs. DuBois could wear anything, even at her age.

She loved it anyway, though, she reminded herself as she scanned the evening sky, and her parents had always insisted on it – that it was good luck, if a full moon fell on Halloween – and she'd always loved all of it, the costumes and the candy and the parties and the fantasy of it – the chance to be anything you wanted, if you could just come up with a costume of it. She smiled just remembering it, her parents fully decorated house, with the pumpkins in every corner, and the straw people lining the porch, and the skeletons hanging from the trees in the apple orchard, and the fuzzy purple foam spider plopped atop the hay wagon, and the plastic bats above the doors, and the blood red punch – which they swore was drained from the animals in the barn, which really, was kind of demented, when she thought back on it.

There was nothing like it, she reminded herself, as she let a few of the stragglers pick three candies each, because it was just for fun – and it wasn't about table ware settings or who couldn't sit next to whom or whether they'd get it all done on time, the shopping or the wrapping or the stocking hanging – as if it wasn't a full job just in itself, Christmas, and sometimes even Thanksgiving, she'd thought more than once – and it was just what you wanted to make of it, and it was the only excuse she had all year to do it – stuff herself with left over Milky Ways and Butterfingers – since she was still the only one of her sisters who had it, the gene that funneled chocolate directly onto her hips even if she just looked at it.

There was nothing like it, she reminded herself, when Alex and Nicholas returned moments later, and Batman was too tired to sort it, she noted with a giggle, though he was awake enough not to trust it with Alex – his candy haul – and she promised seriously that she'd protect it for him, since it was already almost bed time for Super Heroes. It was barely ten minutes in his hot bath before she noticed it – his fluttery eyes – and it was straight to the guest room bed after that, and she thought he'd drifted off already until she heard it, the whispered, mumbled "night Aunt April," as he slipped his arms around it, her silky witches robe, as if it made all the sense in the world that she was still wearing it.

She smirked at the thought, pressing her lips to his forehead as she snapped on the night light beside his bed, since he was probably used to it at their house, what with creek monsters running amok in the back yard, and spies buying him dinosaur pillow cases, and hurricane Katie blowing through the place on occasion – since even he seemed to get it, why it had become her nickname – and "camping" trips on the radioactive seaweed rug in the family room, where he learned all about it, Lego wars and football defenses and pyramid building space aliens and how to grip a baseball and dog nutrition and Big Foot's recent visits to Elliot Bay, at least, to hear the Discovery Channel talk about it.

Of course it would seem normal to him, she imagined with a smirk as she entered her bedroom, because he was learning it all from Robin – who still seriously wanted to do it with Wonder Woman – as if that wouldn't just do it, set the whole League of Justice grapevine working overtime debating it, whether Robin would really be better off with Cat Woman – and what Batman would say about it; whether Robin did it with his mask on, and if they'd ever done it in the Bat Car; whether Wonder Woman took off her cones to do it, and whether Robin knew about it – the time she'd done it with the Green Lantern – and whether she was going to end up with Superman eventually, anyway, no matter what Robin did about it.

Not that Robin always knew what was best for him, anyway, she noted with a smirk, since it wasn't like she didn't hear it, the steaming shower he was running to fend it off – hypothermia – and it wasn't like she hadn't told him so, and it all got her wondering if it was that cold in Ohio, too, at the moment, and she could picture it all over again, the hay rides and the costume parade and the old cemetery their father used to drive them past – just for the fun of it – and it was kind of demented, too, sort of like the blood red punch, when she thought about it.

She loved it, though, she reminded herself, gazing out her huge bedroom windows at the tree tops swaying the distance, bathed in eerie full moonlight, and she could picture it – black cats and flying witches and mummies unraveling – and she'd loved it, she reminded herself, the ghost stories and the creaking in the attic – even if it had been her father – and the scary movies that she could barely watch through her half covered eyes, and it startled her all over again, almost making her shriek, as he crawled tiredly into the bed beside her, still heated and slightly damp from his shower.

"Was I supposed to wear my costume?" he muttered, tugging lightly at the shiny silk.

"It's okay," April giggled, running her fingers over his bare skin. "I like this one better."

"I could wear it more often," he offered, sighing as she slid her hands up his spine.

"Isn't it a little cold for that?" she smirked, giggling as he rolled his eyes. It wasn't like she hadn't warned him, that she tell him she'd told him so, but it was still too cool to the touch, she thought, the smooth skin sliding beneath her fingers, and it wasn't fair, exactly, since it usually made him so sleepy, long slow strokes along his spine, but it wasn't like she could just leave it chilly like that – even if she'd warned him about it – and it wasn't like she could let him freeze on their sort of anniversary, even if he was still pouting about it, the whole Wonder Woman thing, as if it was ever going to happen anyway.

"It's not bad," he muttered, smiling drowsily as her warm hands worked slowly down along his sides.

"It would scare the children," she insisted, shaking her head and giggling as he slid the silky robe from her shoulders. It had scared her, too, once upon a time, she remembered, the whole idea of it, and the way her sisters talked about it, and the teasing she got about it in the Anatomy lab at medical school – about how it might be the only chance she'd have to see it up close, since it wasn't like she was doing it.

"They're asleep," he smirked, curling eagerly into her hands.

"Won't Wonder Woman be jealous?" she teased, smirking again as her hands wandered below his ribs, teasing his thighs. It had terrified her, really, the pictures her giggling sisters showed her of it, the sight of it as her med school lab partners cut into it, under the harsh classroom lights, the feel of it stirring against her, as if she was supposed to know what to do with it.

"She's cool with it," he insisted, moaning softly as her fingers wandered deeper into his groin.

"You're two timing Wonder Woman?" April snickered, her fingers closing ominously around it. "Not a good idea," she reminded him, tightening her grasp. It wasn't like she had any idea, really, she reminded herself, even after she'd done it the first few times, though to be fair, she did learn fairly quickly not to squeeze it too tight, at least, not right there, not unless she was making a point with it.

"Not doing it," Alex muttered, shaking his head and almost gasping as it stiffened in her hands, throbbing wildly. She'd been terrified of it, she remembered, until she'd gotten the hang of it, the difference between a good gasp and a bad gasp, until she could watch it closely enough without blushing too much notice it, that it was about speed and timing and location and delicacy, too, almost like surgery, and that it could all be a matter of centimeters anyway, the difference between a bad groan, and his eyes rolling completely back in his head as his heart pounded and his breathing raced and his limbs trembled until he shuddered violently beneath her - when she got it just right.

"That's better," April agreed, straddling him and nodding smugly as he groaned, a good groan, she was sure, definitely a good groan.

It was the last thing she heard from him as he slid smoothly into her, a strangled, muffled gasp, and it was the last thing she remembered about it, his hands closing around her, as her own costume dropped away, and it was the last thing she'd ever imagined about doing it on her sort of anniversary - before she'd ever actually done it with anyone in the first place – that she'd be doing it with Robin, while guarding Batman's candy as he slept peacefully beside a SpongeBob nightlight, oblivious to it all.

It was just the story of her life, she thought with a smirk, as Robin curled lazily around her afterwards, and it just made her tremble, as his hands slid leisurely around her again, and it still made her shiver, as his lips brushed her breasts, and it still made her blush, as he nuzzled into her neck, and it still made her breath catch, the sound of his soft murmurs, and it still made her stomach churn, the sleepy smile that spread across his face, and it still made her limbs quiver, the feel of it wedged against her, and it still made her heart flutter, the shy hazel smile as he slipped it from her fingers again, a miniature Snickers bar, as if she would ever forget it, the one she'd given him after they'd done it on the night he'd asked her to do it with him forever – even if it had fallen into the popcorn tub, the ring that went along with it.

"I bet Wonder Woman wouldn't do it with Snickers bars," she teased, wrapping her arms more tightly around him, "or cool whip."

"It'd still be hot," he shrugged, his hands closing over her breasts as she sighed. It was cheating, too, she reminded herself, because she just melted into his hands when he did that – faster than a miniature Snickers bar, even – and it wasn't like he didn't know it, she gathered, just judging from his smirk as his fingers lingered over her, and it wasn't like she could even push it away, even, his gentle kneading grasp, since it wasn't like her whole body wouldn't mutiny on her on the spot if she tried it.

"We're not really cut out for Super Hero costumes," she smirked, moaning softly as she rolled toward him, and wincing again as she imagined it, the hard plastic cones closing around her boobs. It would be the suit of shining armor all over, she imagined, trailing her own fingers over Alex's now warmed, supple body as she pictured it, all that sharp metal digging into it, as if she didn't like it best just the way it was, she reminded herself with a smirk, giggling again as it lazed peacefully under her fingers.

"You'd be hot," he corrected, shaking his head as he ran his hands over it all again, Aunt Edna's hips and her jiggling thighs and the Martian boobs that would never squeeze into it – the whole Wonder Woman model – and there was just no point arguing it, she imagined, smiling broadly, since it wasn't like it had ever worked before once he'd been convinced of it – of space aliens or mutant snake heads or creek monsters or the aesthetic appeal of a puke green rug – with orange and yellow swirls – and it wasn't like they weren't going to polish it off, anyway, all the left over Halloween candy, and it wasn't like she'd planned on it, spending her anniversary arguing with Robin about it, how hot it'd be for him to do it with Wonder Woman, no matter what the Justice League grapevine said about it.

"Are you trying to get me not to say it?" she teased, giggling again as he nuzzled closer into her neck, sighing sleepily.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he mumbled half into her chest, sighing again as she tugged him closer, wrapping the thick comforter more closely around them. She had to do it, she knew, even though she preferred it even to a suit of shining armor – his smooth, supple skin – since it was cold for a Halloween night, and it wasn't like she wanted it to chill him again, even if it was entirely his fault – that he'd brought it home half numb and shivering – as if no one had freaking warned him about it.

"I told you so," she whispered, smirking gleefully before gathering him closer to her and delicately pressing her lips to his, as he drifted off to sleep.


	21. Chapter 21

"It's almost ready," Abbey said cheerfully, as she put her finishing touches on the cake she was making. At least, he thought it was a cake, until she swore it was a giant cookie – though she was covering it with gooey frosting. He might have asked about it, but it wasn't like he'd risk it, he reminded himself as his mouth watered just looking at it, not getting a slice of it at Beth's party, no matter what the girls wanted to call it.

"Did you get it?" April asked, rushing into the kitchen while still fiddling with her necklace.

Alex just rolled his eyes, holding it up for her to see, his neatly tied tie, as if it made any sense at all for them to be so over dressed, just judging from some of the photos Beth took for the new multi-million dollar contract she'd just signed with European Vogue, which were freaking porn when you got right down to it.

"It's just us," April reminded them as she grabbed her purse and coat and started to usher them toward the door, into the blustery November dusk.

"You need help with it?" Alex asked, watching Abbey as she carefully maneuvered the cake, or cookie, or whatever it was into an unwieldy plastic carrier.

"Don't trust him with it," April teased from the doorway, smirking at him. "It'll be eaten before we get to the car."

"I've got it, dad," Abbey assured him, giggling at April's remark as she fastened the lid on it, while Alex just rolled his eyes again, clutching his keys in his hand.

Of course, she didn't need it anymore, his help, he reminded himself, because it had already been arranged, her early graduation, and it was just a month away, her move to the University of California at Irvine for the spring Semester, where she'd be surrounded it – beaches and sunshine and ocean waves and guys with surf boards, guys who looked like the ones she helped Beth take pictures of, guys who only thought about doing it. It was all just too much, too soon, not that he could say a word – even if he didn't grow all tongue tied and sputtering and queasy when he thought about it – just going by how bubbly and excited she was about it.

At least he hadn't been roped into it this time, he reminded himself, as he drove into the setting sun while they chattered about it, her and April, about classes and bed sheets and majors and beach towels and how much fun it was all going to – the inevitable shopping trip, like he'd gone on with Katie – since April was as excited about it as Abbey was, apparently.

It wasn't like they needed him for any of it, since it wasn't like he still didn't hear it from her – about how it was awful, his taste in rugs or blankets or whatever the hell else it was that he was supposed to have better taste in – and he was sure of it, that by "better" she meant more like hers – as if it wasn't a freaking practical thing to want in a rug – for it to be comfortable – not that it mattered, apparently, since he'd just have to see what they picked out when he got the bill for it.

It wasn't a freaking contest, anyway, he reminded himself as he rolled up Beth's long circular driveway, except that it was for April, he reminded himself, stepping into the brightly lit grand entrance hall as Beth greeted them. It wasn't like he couldn't already see it – even as April was shrugging off her coat – the mental inventory she was taking of it, of the spiral staircase that was decorated with pine cones and the massive fireplace mantle that was covered in candles and the polished wood floors that had never seen a muddy footprint – at least, to hear April tell it when she was ranting about it, as if it wasn't one of Nicholas' favorite things to do when he was staying with them, going out with Churchill and hunting for it – the creek monster they'd found a bone from once, not that he could explain it, exactly, even being a doctor and all, how the monster had survived without it.

He could already feel it, too, as he followed her into the kitchen, her eyes tracing over it, the polished marble counter tops and the massive center island and the shiny appliances and the triple oven that even Abbey eyed approvingly, as if it didn't make perfect sense. It wasn't like this was unusual for her, hosting seventy people for a celebratory dinner when she did it again – nailed down another major bucks contract with another magazine publisher – even if it did just mean her house was overrun with it, the noise and the chaos and the models who didn't think anything of it- taking it all off, even the guys, even if Katie or Abbey were in the studio too, trying to get high definition pictures of it.

He was sure it was already starting, too, as he watched April's eyes wandering wistfully over it – the huge spread of lobster and pie and potatoes and cake and some kind of vegan chicken like dish and those little frilly pastries and seven kinds of pasta run together, from the looks of it – and he was sure he'd hear about it, again, about how Beth could eat all of it and not gain an ounce, about how Jenny would eye her seriously and tell her she should cut back on it – on carbs or fat or fruit from the Yucatán, depending on what the hot diet of the week was – about how Dani probably ate so expensively like that every day, in New York with her rich banker Neil and the Knicks, about how Cari was already eating it, her second helping of seven layer chocolate cake, since it wasn't like she had to worry about it, about it going straight to Aunt Edna's hips– as if that was even a biological possibility, he'd often point out her even if it was inevitable, the eye rolling she'd direct back at him for it.

He never had figured out what he was supposed to say about it, though, he grumbled as he grabbed a plate, since it wasn't like she liked it, anyone snarking on her sisters, and it wasn't like that anyway, he insisted to himself as he stabbed a slab of pot roast with his fork, since it wasn't like Beth just served girly food at these things anymore – even if she probably heard it from the models who just lived on lettuce leaves and sugarless chewing gum, when you got right down to it – and it wasn't like Beth wasn't cool with Abbey and Katie and Eric, at least, when she wasn't corrupting the girls and encouraging them to think about it, and it wasn't like Beth was braggy or showy about it – unlike Cari had always been about Mayo – it was just that she liked to do stuff big, he reminded himself, happily piling a large slice of pie on his plate, and it wasn't like he could blame her for it.

It wasn't like that with Dani, either, he reminded himself, rolling his eyes as he sat at it – the table April had snagged, with Amber and Nicholas, since she was part of it, too, and April was still working on it, on patching it all up with him and his sister, even if she didn't understand the half of it. It wasn't like anyone took it seriously, though, Dani's flirting, and it wasn't like it was all that great, working for the Knicks, and it wasn't like it wasn't freaking obvious, that whoever had done it – her boob job – had been a worse hack than Sloan, and it wasn't like she wasn't funny even if it was a little hard to take sometimes, and it wasn't like she wasn't just a freaking drama queen, when you got right down to it.

It wasn't like that with the other two, either, he reminded himself, since it wasn't like anyone gave a crap about it, where you went to med school, after you set up your practice and started publishing – no matter what Cari said about it, and it wasn't like they'd actually hired her once she'd finished it, Mayo's Oncology program – unlike, say, Seattle Grace – and it wasn't like she was the go chick in anything at Seattle Pres, even if she sometimes acted like it, to hear her talk about it.

It wasn't like that with Jenny, either, he reminded himself, eying her from across the room, where she was really getting into it – probably about health care reform or logging in Washington state or recycling those little plastic water bottles, as if it would save the freaking planet if people just did more of it, saving the sea otters or breeding more baboons or harvesting halibut more efficiently – as if it never occurred to her that the guy whose ear she was chewing might even have a shot at not deeming her entirely too annoying if she'd just calm the fuck down about it, all of it.

It was just that he didn't get it – like he didn't get why Amber insisted on it, too, making Nicholas wear a neck tie, since it was just going to end up all covered with it, anyway, the chocolate cake he was happily spooning up – why April was always competing with her sisters.

Sure, it was just how she was, the whole competitive thing. But it wasn't like Beth's house was all super comfortable – except for her den – even if it was bigger than theirs, and it wasn't like Cari was the go to chick in Oncology at Seattle Pres even if she acted like it, and it wasn't like it was doing Jenny any good – her being so outspoken – since it wasn't like anyone else could ever get a word in edgewise when she went off about it, whatever it was that set her off just babbling about it, and it wasn't like April's boobs wouldn't have been better than Dani's even if her sister's didn't look it, so fake, and probably felt it, too – not that he'd tested it.

He'd hear about it anyway, though, he was sure, as he happily accepted it, the slice of Abbey's cake that she handed him, reminding him again that it was a cookie – as if he was going to argue about it, when it was inches below his nose.

He'd hear about it from April, though, about how she shouldn't have eaten it, the fake vegan chicken thing, as if she didn't really fill it out, the brown dress she was wearing, about how she should have pushed it away, the potato dish, as if she thought it was freaking hot or something, for a chick to have stick legs like a giraffe, that she should have pushed it away the strawberry cream pie, as if it wasn't one of her favorite foods in the world, that she shouldn't have even worn it around all those models, her tight brown dress, as if it wasn't hot as hell the way it clung to her boobs, as if she'd never get it, the whole if you've got it, flaunt it thing, as if she'd never get it, that Dani's fake boobs and Beth's gangly legs and Cari's snooty business card and Jenny's big mouth would never top her, when you got right down to it.

* * *

><p>"So he's getting really good at it?" Beth asked, raising her eyes curiously as she sliced April a piece of pie.<p>

"He loves it," April agreed, nodding ruefully.

"That's great," Amber added, happily accepting her own slice.

"It's dangerous," April corrected her, shaking her head as she scowled at her plate. It was her favorite pie, and Beth knew it, and it would go straight to her hips – even just the aroma of it – and it wasn't like she'd needed to invite all those models to the party, even if, okay, that was the point of it.

"I always thought it looked like fun," Amber shrugged, nodding seriously.

"She's paranoid," Beth pointed out, rolling her eyes as she poured Amber a drink.

"It's flying down a snow capped mountain on two pieces of glorified fire wood," April insisted, shaking her head, her hand trembling as it poised over the pie, since she was fairly sure it was staring at her, probably with an annoying smirk.

"Didn't you go skiing on your honeymoon?" Beth pointed out, digging into her own pie, whose entire calorie content was probably heading straight to the Alps, since it wasn't like Beth's hips would show it.

"Alex can ski?" Amber asked curiously.

"No," April admitted, almost smirking, since she had the pictures to prove it. Not that she'd ever show anyone the visual proof of it, that he couldn't do it at all, ski - the purple broken ass that he ended up with entirely because he wouldn't admit it, that he couldn't do it.

"They just stayed in the Ski lodge all week and did it," Beth said mischievously, her eyes sparkling. "Anyone want ice cream with it?"

Beth did that often, teased April about it – how April had done it on her honeymoon, since it wasn't like she could've been experienced with it, Beth insisted, judging by how uncomfortable she'd been when her sisters talked about it, when they were doing it in high school, and the library, and the grain silo over at Henderson's Dairy, and even in Mr. Henson's open pasture, at least, to hear Dani tell it.

As if it was a badge of honor or something, April grumbled to herself, to do it where you might get caught, as if she didn't have to be more careful about it anyway, getting caught at it, since she had children in her home, as if she shouldn't even give it a second thought, the photograph portfolios that Beth had Abbey and Katie help her put together for the new contract she was celebrating – the ones of the guys who had no qualms about taking it all off, and letting impressionable teenagers photograph it all, in high definition – as if it shouldn't concern her at all, that the aunt her daughters most idolized was a pornographer, no matter what they called it in Europe.

She never had corrected it, though, Beth's account of her honeymoon, since it wasn't like she wanted to talk about it, about grumpy husbands with broken asses, and it wasn't like she wanted to tell anyone about it – especially after how hard they'd all chortled about her catastrophe with Dr. Stark, the first time she did it. It wasn't like she wanted to hear about it, either, about how it wasn't going to be anything like it was in those romance novels she'd read when she was in college, since it wasn't like she'd ever doubted it, true, but it still made a better story of her honeymoon – Beth's version of it.

"Eric's just a little boy," April insisted, shaking her head as she stuck her fork into the pie – since, to hell with it, he was risking his life in pursuit of some silly trophy, and Abbey was leaving for college soon, and Katie would probably spend the next summer feeding whales in Alaska or swimming with sharks in South Africa and it wasn't like she was prepared to be mocked by a slice of pastry, even if it would cling to her hips – that one little slice – as if she'd eaten three pounds of it.

"He's fourteen," Beth corrected, digging into her second slice.

It was jarring to hear it, too, because she'd noticed it just that past weekend, when he and Alex and Nicholas had returned from the grocery store. Eric had just loped into it, the kitchen, and she could've sworn it, that he was two inches taller than when he'd left just that morning, and he piled the bags on the counter as if he didn't even notice it, their heavy weight, and it startled her all over again, that it was Alex's strong profile and Alex's shy smile and Alex's teasing smirk and Alex's shy hazel eyes that met hers when a voice she barely recognized asked her: "What letter do Brussels sprouts go under, mom?"

"He's just doing it because Alex pushes him," April insisted, shaking her head.

Not that Alex ever said much about it, since it wasn't like either of them was a big talker. But she was sure of it, since it wasn't like he'd built that trophy case with all the little hooks for hanging ski medals just because he had some extra wood lying around the garage from when they redid the attic, no matter what he said about it.

"He's doing it to impress Stacey Spencer," Abbey corrected, laughing and slicing pieces of her own frosted cookie off for a few more eager takers.

"Oohh, a budding romance," Beth teased, her eyes twinkling as a piece of pie lodged in April's throat.

April didn't even want to think about it, about Eric and girls, and she didn't even want to imagine it, whatever Alex had told him about romance – Alex, who apparently seriously thought that nothing said love quite like a thoracic cavity key chain with lighted veins – and she didn't want to hear about it from Beth, Beth - who had surrounded her daughters with guys who were paid to walk around for hours at a time with it all hanging out, Beth, who apparently thought that it was all about how many countries you could do it in within a month's timeframe, as if it was the kind of thing to keep track of like stamps on her passport, at least, to hear her talk about it.

"She's a junior," Abbey added, laughing again, and April didn't want to hear it, either, about how Eric was already a player, since it had been just a matter of time, April had imagined – basically since his birth – since it was all there, the smirk and the profile and the hazel eyes and the shy smile – even if she hadn't noticed it just then, what with the pain and the drugs and the exhaustion and all – whether any of the maternity ward nurses had been eyeing it, Eric's perfect little rosy ass.

"An older woman," Beth teased. "She'll be experienced."

April didn't want to think about it, either, about whether it was better or not – if he did it with someone experienced, the first time he did it. Not that he was doing it anytime soon, she insisted to herself – and she didn't want to think about it, about how her forty three year old sister sized it all up, whenever her twenty something models walked around her studio, as if they couldn't care less who saw it, and she really didn't want to hear it – about how it was better to do it with someone experienced when you did it the first time, not that Eric should be thinking about it at all.

"Like Mrs. DuBois," Abbey giggled, and April didn't want to think it, either, about Eric doing it with an experienced French woman, and it had probably all started there, anyway, April imagined – as if it had ever made sense, to give a young, impressionable girl with a penchant for romantic fantasy, a busty, curvy Frenchwoman with a wardrobe to flaunt it and a figure that just screamed let's do it and a tragic war torn life story that might have suggested to her that life was too short to wait for it.

"Mrs. DuBois?" Amber asked, frowning curiously.

"She's a dress form," Abbey replied, motioning with her hands to outline the general shape, before rinsing off the fork she'd been using and pulling a glass from a nearby cabinet. "Dad got her for me" she explained, "when I was learning how to sew."

"Dad thinks she's hot," April grumbled, motioning with her own hands to out-line a version that was much more busty than Abbey's had been. Not that she was paying any attention it, she reminded herself as she poked idly at her pie, that he was probably at it right then, chatting with some model about it, some model who would even put even it to shame, Mrs. DuBois' figure, not that Mrs. DuBois would ever be caught dead eating it, either, rich strawberry cream pie.

"Dad thinks she talks too much," Abbey said, giggling again as she poured milk into the glass.

"They think that's funny," April added wryly, frowning at Abbey. "Mrs. DuBois doesn't have a head," she added, in response to Amber's curious glance.

"You just don't get it," Abbey corrected, laughing. "I'm bringing this to Nicholas," she added, holding the glass up and motioning to Amber. "He's with my dad in the den," she said as she breezed out of the room.

"I put his dinosaur pillow in there," Beth said, nodding to Amber. "There's a bowl of miniature candy bars in there, too," she added, glancing back at April. "That should hold him for a while."

"It's a bribe," April explained, pushing her pie plate away reluctantly and taking a sip of her sparkling water. "We come to the party, and he wears a tie, he gets candy, and football."

"That sounds fair," Amber agreed, nodding wryly.

"It prevents pouting," April added. "He's not much for crowds."

"Neither is Nicholas," Amber agreed. "The books say he'll grow out of it," she noted hesitantly.

"He's a great kid," April reassured her. "He was adorable in his Halloween costume."

"He loved that," Amber agreed, laughing as Beth pulled a picture of it out of an envelope on her counter. "He had the best time that night," she continued, smiling widely.

"So did Alex," April smirked, "even though he won't admit it."

"It's hard to tell," Amber said quietly, scanning the photo again, of her giggling, gap toothed son, and the mysteriously masked brother she sometimes barely recognized, when she got right down to it.

"Yeah, I know," April admitted finally, since it wasn't like it was easy, knowing what Alex thought, since it wasn't like he'd talk about it, and it wasn't like he came with an instruction manual, and it wasn't like she was expecting it to all just fade away in a week or a month or even a year – whatever it was that had driven them so far apart in the first place, since it wasn't like she hadn't seen it first hand, the little white farm house, and it wasn't like there was much she could say about it, since it wasn't like words would fix it, or make it better, or even make it make sense, when you got right down to it.

"He's a good dad," Beth volunteered finally, after a few minutes of it, the awkward silence that still sometimes settled around them, and April almost breathed a sigh of relief at it.

It wasn't like she'd told Beth all of it – about the little white farm house – but April had told Beth some of it, even if he wouldn't like it, Beth knowing about it, because Beth was his family whether he liked it or not, and Beth would get it, too, about how hard it was when you started from it – from an upended snow globe – and Beth wouldn't blab about it like Jenny, and Beth wouldn't judge him for it like Cari, and Beth wouldn't ask him about it like Dani would, just because she couldn't help it.

"I mean, I snark on him and all," Beth added, shrugging casually, "but he's great with kids."

"He'll deny it," April reminded her, rolling her eyes and reaching for her phone as it buzzed beside her. "It's Eric," she said happily, motioning to them that she was taking the call into the other room.

"Still alive is he?" Beth teased, ignoring April's scowl as she popped through the doorway.

"It's just weird," Amber shrugged, fingering her glass. "I barely know him. It's like you and April have known each other forever."

"We have," Beth pointed out wryly. "And it's not like we all always get along. It takes a lot of… patience," she added carefully.

"I'm trying," Amber shrugged reluctantly. "It's like he's all closed off about it," she added hesitantly.

"That's what April used to say about him when they were having problems," Beth replied, shrugging and pulling another bottle of mineral water from her refrigerator. "She just kept working at it."

* * *

><p>That was it, he'd decided, somewhere in the middle of the meal - it was all about just how competitive she was with her sisters. Not that she'd ever listened to him, he reminded himself, as he wandered over to the mini fridge in the den to grab another beer, when he'd told her that they were just jealous of it –of her job or her kids or the way she could fill out a Wonder Woman costume, no matter how much she denied it – and he just shook his head about it as he settled down into it, possibly the most plush and comfortable couch on the planet, and turned it on, the mammoth flat screen television mounted on the wall, just in time for it, the game of the week, to hear the football announcers go on it about it.<p>

He checked it quickly, too, his phone, just to confirm it, that Eric and his classmates had gotten to the ski resort safely. It was apparently "wicked cool," the ski conditions, and he just smirked as he read it, since it had worried him for a while there, that Eric would never find it, a sport he could be good at.

Not that it was football or wrestling, but it was pretty exciting – ski racing – and Eric was really into, like Katie, and he'd already won some medals for it, and he'd already made it – his school's team, as if it had even occurred to Alex at the time, that the Math and Science Academy might have sports teams.

It wasn't like he cared too much about it or anything – no matter what April said about it - about the three meets Eric had already won as a freshman, or the trophy he might take home this weekend if he could just shave 4.23 more seconds off of it, his speed on the back slalom. It was just good that he was into it – something that didn't involve sitting in front of a computer screen or a calculator and mastering advanced Thermodynamics and Differential Equations just to make heads or tails of it.

It was good for him, Alex insisted, and it wouldn't be karate all over again no matter what April said about it – as if his wrist hadn't healed perfectly, as if he couldn't do it now, defend himself if he needed it. It wasn't like she didn't see more of it in her ER, anyway, injuries from football or wrestling or even skate boarding, then she ever did for skiing – and it wasn't like he was pressuring the kid just by building a special case for it, his growing collection of ski trophies and medals, since it wasn't like she'd want them spread all over the house, or just left out getting dusty, and it was just a way of organizing them, when you got right down to it.

He reviewed the latest message from Katie, too, about how she was changing it again, her major, about how it might not be sea life rescue in Costa Rica this summer after all – it might be monitoring the health of shark populations in Australia again, since it wanted her back, the program she'd attend for just two weeks that past spring.

He just smirked at it, since it was all coming back to him – Atlantis 2.0 and all the time she'd spent with it, with fish tanks and aquarium books and her fantasies about running it someday, a sea life rescue place of her own, and he could already imagine it – her hapless college roommates getting lectures about dolphin safe Tuna and penguin migration and the plight of red sea plankton, and he remembered almost believing it – back before she'd thrown it all away – that she might actually do it.

He stuffed it back in his pocket, his phone, a few minutes before kickoff, and he just watched it absently, the wind blowing the tree line across the darkened back yard, and he just smirked when he saw it, the photos of Nicholas beside all the photos of Katie and Abbey and Eric lining Beth's hulking book cases, and it was all there all over again, Katie's first trip to Sea World and Abbey's first sewing machine and Eric's first Lego set, Katie smiling on her snow board and Abbey happily arranging fabric around Mrs. DuBois' shoulders and Eric karate chopping a loaf of bread – as if he couldn't have avoided the whole broken wrist thing entirely, if he'd just stuck with fighting sandwich food – Katie's high school graduation and Eric's gap toothed smile at his fifth birthday party and Abbey with the expensive camera Beth had given her for Christmas nearly three years before.

It was a cool camera, too, Alex acknowledged – at least, before Beth had Abbey using it to take pictures of guys who thought nothing of taking it all off in front of little girls, even if their mother's inexplicably approved it, for reasons he couldn't fathom. It had been awesome, too, that Medieval Lego set with the knights and the horses and the working draw bridge and the moat he and Eric and Katie had added to it – which they'd actually filled with some of Katie's cat fish - which was still set up in their family room – since Nicholas played with it – and Katie had loved it, Alex recalled, the snow board he'd had made for her, with the crashing waves and the tooth baring Great White shark on it.

It had all been pretty cool, he thought with a smirk – even if he still hadn't gotten it right, those stupid jumbo candy canes he was supposed to hang from the rafters every year, since it wouldn't be Christmas without them, at least to hear April tell it.

It still wasn't spoiling them, either, no matter what she said about it, since it wasn't like they'd ever have to feel it, what it was like to have none of it, and he smirked again as he glanced over the pictures until he felt it, the familiar dip on the couch beside him as Nicholas burrowed into it.

It was still too much for Nicholas, Alex imagined, the crowds and the noise – even if he did get a couple of choice slabs of cake out of it, and it had probably tired him out, and it was probably past his nap time, and he just reached over wordlessly and snapped it off again with a frown, the chocolate covered neck tie, rolling his eyes at him and watching him giggle as he stuffed it into the little boy's jacket pocket.

"Seahawks," Nicholas noted happily, pointing sleepily to the screen.

"You got it," Alex smirked, nodding approvingly, since they'd been working on it, recognizing all the team colors.

It settled into a comfortable silence as the game kicked off, and he just smirked again as he grabbed it, the little dinosaur blanket Beth had draped across it, the impossibly cushy couch, and he just placed it loosely around Nicholas as he dozed off into it, the Prehistoric Adventures throw pillow tucked into the corner of it – a Triceratops shaped pillow, Alex noted, impressed, judging by the shape of it.

"Hey," Amber said quietly, nearly a half hour later, entering the room and sitting across from him on the other side of the couch as she peeked over it, the spot where Nicholas slept beside him.

"It's in his pocket," Alex said defensively, sure it was the first thing she would say about it.

"It's okay," she smirked, rolling her eyes. "He hates it, anyway."

"So why make him wear it?" Alex retorted. It came out more sharply than he intended, but it wasn't like he'd ever said anything about it, about her, or the kid's father – whoever the hell that was – or the years of stony silence after she'd assured him of it, that it was all his fucking fault, too, whatever had gone wrong with it.

"I want to do it right," she snapped, folding her arms over her chest and sitting back defiantly.

"Huh?" Alex asked, glancing at her with a scowl.

"This," she said, motioning vaguely around the room. "Him," she added, lowering her voice as she motioned toward her son with her eyes. "Did you ever think we'd be at a party at a place like this?" she asked, wide eyed and serious.

"It's a house," Alex shrugged, though it wasn't at all. It was a mansion, really, and it was full of it – of food and music and dinosaur shaped pillows bought just for him and whatever else it was that made a building into a home for a kid who wouldn't have to worry about it, where his next meal was coming from, or if he'd have a bed, or if the screaming would keep him up all night, or if he'd ever see any of it again – as bad as it was – if the Social Services morons came back and decided that it'd be fucking safer to drag them all away from it, and away from each other, even if they had nowhere else to take them that was better, when you got right down to it.

"Not to me," Amber corrected sharply.

He just couldn't read it – if it was a dig at him for not fixing it, all of it, or if she was jealous or if – of Beth's exotic life – or if she resented it, having a kid she obviously hadn't planned on, or if it was a reminder, that they'd never had it – any of it – because he just couldn't control it, his own temper or his mother's pills or his father's boozing or Aaron's crazy of whatever the hell else it was that tore it apart, the crappy little farm house in Iowa, as if a tornado had leveled it.

"I don't want it to be like that for him," she added quietly, motioning to Nicholas again after another stony silence, almost as if she could see it all churning in his mind, though he hadn't said a word about it.

"Was it?" he grumbled finally, his eyes narrowing as he motioned toward Nicholas.

"No," she snapped, glaring angrily at him. "I'm not that stupid, no matter what you think."

"I never said that," he retorted, staring back at the television, his face reddening.

"You never say anything," she snorted. "You already know it all, anyway, right? About your stupid sister who got knocked up and ruined her life?"

"He's a great kid," Alex hissed, glaring back at her furiously again. "Whether you think it or not-"

"I know that," she snapped, cutting him off abruptly, her eyes blazing. "Don't you think I know that?" she added, lowering her voice to a whisper as she glanced back down at him again, running her fingers over his hair.

"I made a mistake," she added, struggling to control her voice. "His father, he didn't want… this," she whispered, glancing around the room again, "he didn't want.. us," she added sadly.

Alex stared back at the television, his heart racing and his stomach churning and his lungs clenching and the blood rushing in his ears and his voice catching in his throat as he groped for it, whatever it was she was expecting him to say or to do at the moment, since it wasn't like he ever got it right.

"I want it to be different for him," she announced defiantly a moment later. "So I took the great job, even if the move upset him a little. And I let April's sisters spoil him because he's never had that before," she added determinedly. And I-"

"It wasn't my fault," he snapped, vehemently cutting her off.

"I never said it was," she retorted, scowling at him. And she hadn't, exactly, at least not more than once, and not for years after that – when he hadn't heard from her at all – and not since she'd returned to Seattle, where she was suddenly friends with April and running around with her sisters and maybe even sending Nicholas' school photos to April's parents in Ohio, at least from the looks of it.

"Like hell you didn't," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at her. She could deny it all she wanted to, too, and she might have only said it once, but it was there a thousand times over – no matter what she or April or anyone else said about it.

"I was 16," she retorted defensively, "and confused, and terrified."

"And I was just your loser brother who ran off to med school and left you there," he filled in furiously, as if he'd heard it a thousand times before. "You think it was easy?"

"I was a kid," she retorted, rolling her eyes at him. "We were broke, Aaron was working two jobs, mom was barely holding it together-"

"I was living in my freaking car," Alex retorted, his face reddening again. "I was working shifts in a freaking bar just to eat. "I was-"

"Trying to get away from it-" she filled in pointedly. "So am I," she added glumly, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced back at Alex.

"He's the best thing that ever happened to me," she added quietly, glancing back down at Nicholas. "I'm a damn good mother," she added, her eyes flashing at him again.

"I know," Alex agreed, sighing and wiping his hands over his face as he leaned back into the couch.

"You do?" she asked, almost hesitantly, after an awkward silence.

"He's a great kid," Alex said quietly. "April loves having him over."

"She says you need someone to play Legos with," Amber pointed out smugly.

"She talks too much," he grumbled, looking back at the television again.

"You're good, you know," Amber added quietly as she rose from the couch, "with him, I mean," she added, motioning to Nicholas again as he still snored softly beside Alex.

"It's my job," Alex shrugged, his face reddening again as he glanced back down toward him.

"April said you say that, too," Amber snickered, smirking at him as she walked out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Did you get it working?" April asked, giggling as she crouched down beside Alex, who was still sprawled across the seaweed rug fiddling with the train set that now ringed the Christmas tree. It had been Eric's, she remembered, once upon a time. But he'd lost interest in – about the time he and Alex had taken to blowing up model volcanoes instead, she recalled with a frown – and they hadn't set it up in years.<p>

"It was just one of the track switches," Alex said casually, as he straightened three of the box cars and rearranged a few of the little train village people who milled around the station, apparently also waiting for the announcement that it was up and running again.

"So Eric fixed it?" she teased, since it had been the Barbie Deluxe Dream House all over again over the past week or so, at least as far as she saw it, not that they'd needed it this time, exactly, the emergency toy hot line, since Eric could fix anything with wires or capacitors or a motor in it.

"He helped," Alex muttered, rolling his eyes as he piled more fake snow beside the base of the village mountain. "They're having a weather delay," he smirked, holding the fake snow up for her, as if that was her only hope of getting it, his bad joke.

"Just don't make them late for tree trimming," she retorted, setting the miniature fir tree down in their little town square. It was almost a replica of their full size tree, she thought, studying it closely, with snow covered bushes and glittery ornaments and a pile of tiny gift wrapped boxes underneath it.

She had no idea how Abbey had found the time to make it, since it wasn't like she wasn't already almost packed for it, her first semester at UC Irvine. It was just always like that with her, though, April reminded herself, fluffing its branches as she surveyed their larger tree – which was basically covered with a whole history of it – Abbey's first Barbie Christmas ornament, the little camera ornament Beth had gotten her from Senegal, the Sewing Machine ornament her Aunt Edna had sent from Cincinnati when she'd seen it – the photos of the first summer dress Abbey had made for Mrs. DuBois, the delicate antique Victorian phonograph ornament Alex had picked up for her years before at that shop on 7th and Spruce – and she didn't even want to know it, how badly he'd been ripped off for it.

She had added to it this year, too, her collection – with a little silver Jeep ornament, and a UC Irvine ant eater ornament, and the tooth ornament that Alex had picked up for her at the Museum of Medical Oddities, as if it was actually funny, since ant eaters didn't actually have teeth, as if he'd ever cared about biological accuracy or scientific fact, when you got right down to it.

It was all there, though, she noted, as her eyes ran over it, and she giggled again as she noticed it – the Thomas train ornament with Nicholas' name on it, which Alex had apparently snagged when he picked up the new miniature people he still hadn't admitted buying– as if they were doing it among themselves and over populating it - and the dangling Tyrannosaurs from Beth, which actually lit up when it roared she reminded herself, startling and jumping back abruptly after she'd delicately fingered it.

At least she'd finally gotten it together this Christmas, though, at least somewhat she reminded herself. Maybe not as well as Beth, who was hosting it again this year – and would be flawless at it, of course – or as Abbey, who had always been starry eyed about all of it, the Christmas carols and the sappy movies and the cookie baking and the holiday family photos and everything about it, really. But at least she'd finally gotten it done this year, the stockings hung neatly along the mantle – and she wasn't going to think about it, either, about all the beautiful holiday photos Abbey had to show her biological parents, if the latest envelope from the adoption agency had anything to do with it.

It was thicker than usual, not that she'd noticed, and it was addressed only to Abbey this time, which only made sense – since she was an adult and all. Of course she was, April thought wryly, since she was taking her fuzzy moose slippers to the dorm with her, along with the stuffed tiger Alex had gotten for her when she was four, the tiger that looked just like the one on the animal cracker boxes that April used to buy by the case for them, back before she'd happily signed it – Abbey Elizabeth Karev.

Not that Abbey had mentioned anything about it, the envelope from the adoption agency. But at least she couldn't say it, even if this was technically her last Christmas as her daughter – that she'd never had it, a neatly hung stocking with her name on it.

She wasn't going to think about it at all, though, she reminded herself again as she peered over Alex's shoulder again – about Katie's grades or Abbey's going off to college or Eric swooping down those slick ski slopes with his friends even if she'd never get it, why her family seemed so intent on it, on hurtling down snow covered slopes as if gravity was just a theory and ER doctors could fix anything – she was just going to enjoy it, all of it.

She was, too, she reminded herself, as she straightened a little bench and one of the lamp posts along the miniature village – since apparently Eric had seen to it, that they all light brilliantly – because she had the next two weeks off, and Nicholas was still all gapped toothed and giggly and wide eyed and believed all of it, about Santa and Reindeers and Elves and the giddy excitement of it, and Abbey would always love it, Christmas, and Katie would be home for it in a few days, and Eric had already won it, the district tournament, and would be home with it in two days, the trophy that Alex had already set up a display case for, no matter how much he denied it, and it would be the perfect Christmas no matter what the freaking forms said about it, any of it.

"Aren't there a lot more people waiting for it this year," she noted, motioning toward the train station and eying him with a smirk as she lay down beside him, determined to get him to admit it.

Its rush hour," he grumbled, sliding another store front into place. "Kill the lights," he added, surveying it happily, as the entire little village sprang to life, with shining store front windows and moving elves in Santa's workshop and motorized carolers in the town square and twirling ice skaters on the little pond and it all made her wonder, really, just how much time he and Abbey and Eric had spent on it.

"Apparently," she nodded wryly, holding up another miniature piece, a cross country skier incongruously perched near the bustling post office. "This guy decided it'd be faster to ski home."

"That's Eric's," he noted defensively, peering closely at the lighted bakery he'd just set beside the little toy shop.

"I figured," she replied, struggling to sound serious as she put the little skier back in its place. "You weren't very good at it," she teased, slipping her hand under his loosely tied sweatpants and sliding them down over his hips.

"I wasn't bad," he grumbled, almost gasping as a shiver ran through his body.

"You broke it," she reminded him, almost giggling as she ran her hand slowly over it.

"I didn't break it," he insisted, almost gasping again as she slid the soft, faded grey fabric completely off of him before running her hand leisurely back over it.

"It was purple," she smirked, tracing her fingers up along his sides as she untangled him from his sweatshirt.

"I have pictures of it," she added, almost gasping herself as he undid it, the clasp of her robe.

"You still liked it," he smirked smugly, running his hands over her body as the robe pooled around them on the floor.

"I felt sorry for it," she teased, trailing her fingers along it again as he curled around her.

"You couldn't keep your hands off of it," he insisted, smirking smugly again as a soft groan escaped her.

It was the last vaguely coherent thought that flitted through her mind – that he sort of was right about that, not that she'd ever admit it – before it all erupted again, and she had no idea how long it'd been before she noticed it again, the snowflakes teeming past the wide windows and the tree glistening in the background and the fire place flickering beside them – with the neatly hung stockings, she reminded herself – as he nuzzled sleepily into it, the curve of her body – and it just made her giggle all over again, as she ran her fingers over it again, how it had looked in her honeymoon photos of it.

She'd never admitted it to anyone, she reminded herself, as she traced her fingers lazily over it, that she hadn't actually done it on her honeymoon, either, since she didn't want to hear it again, especially from her sisters, that she'd been too scared to do it –as if she hadn't gotten over it by then, any fear she'd had about doing it, as if she hadn't planned to do it – at least, until he'd broken it – as if she wanted to hear about it, when it was his ass that was broken, as if she wanted them picturing it anyway, she added with a wry smirk, since it wasn't like it wasn't a nice ass, even when it was purple, and it wasn't like she didn't hear enough about it – from the giggly young nurses – and it wasn't like it didn't photograph well, especially when it was bathed in flickering amber fire light, she smirked, still running her eyes and her fingers over it, it was just that it was still pornography, she imagined, even if it was her husband.

Not that it bothered her anymore, either though, she reminded herself, no matter what Beth said about her being prudish about it, since it wasn't like she was even grabbing for it now – her robe or the blanket on the couch pillows to cover it, and it wasn't like it was being unreasonable, to hide it from the children, since it wasn't like she wanted them scared of it. It was just that it was beside the point, anyway, since Katie was away at college, and Eric was away at a ski competition, and Abbey was in her room planning her bright future, and had already done it, anyway, not that April didn't try to forget it.

It didn't even make her uncomfortable, she added with a giggle, that all of the new little people had just watched them do it, and it wasn't like she didn't enjoy it – the texture of the seaweed rug brushing her skin as she stretched lazily along it, and it wasn't like she needed it, anyway, her warm, thick robe – since it was basically like having a silky, purring hot water bottle wrapped around her, the way Alex tangled around her after doing it – and it wasn't like it wasn't making her drowsy, anyway, the dimly lit room and the rhythm of his breathing and the quivering of his smooth skin as she stroked it.

It didn't make her uncomfortable at all, she smirked sleepily, no matter what Beth said about it – the pictures of all those male models that she had Abbey and Katie photo shopping and refinishing and arranging when they helped her with it, her magazine portfolio – as if it shouldn't bother her at all, that they thought nothing about taking it all off in front of impressionable teenaged girls, and letting them photograph it all, in high definition –since it wasn't like it made her prudish to question Beth about it, about whether it was actually pornography in Seattle, even if it wasn't in Europe, since it wasn't like she could remember seeing it – at least, not in high definition – even when he sisters smuggled it into their parents' house, staring at it and speculating about it and debating it and studying it and preparing for it, for when they'd finally get to see it and to handle it and to feel it up close.

She could barely even remember it, though, she'd insist when they pressed her on it – the time when she was afraid of it – since it wasn't all that intimidating once you got used to it, she smirked, curling her fingers gently into his groin, and it wasn't all the scary, when it quivered sleepily in her hands, and it wasn't some great mystery, she giggled, burrowing her fingers deeper into it in response to his soft moan, once she'd figured out what it liked, and it wasn't like it took fancy equipment or costumes no matter what Beth said – just judging from it, the contented smile that spread across his sleeping face as her fingers lingered over it – even if he was still hung up on it, too, doing it with Wonder Woman – and it wasn't like she couldn't make it all melt into her hands, even though she hadn't on her honeymoon, since she really had felt sorry for it, the aching purple ass he'd broken even though he denied it.


	22. Chapter 22

She was sure she'd finally gotten the hang of it, when she woke the following morning. Her Christmas tree was perfectly decorated, and she finally – finally – had a row of colorful stockings neatly hung along the fireplace, and she'd bring three perfect apple pies to Beth's house, too, and her sisters would love the perfect presents she'd gotten them, and her parents would complement her about her career and her children and her family and how she'd finally gotten it all together, the perfect holiday thing, just like her mother had always done when she was a child.

Her own children would notice it, too, and Eric would focus on something other than his skiing for once, and Katie would look up from her texting, and Abbey's cookies would be perfect, too, and she'd record it all for them to remember. It was almost like April fantasized, too, the Christmas Eve gathering at Beth's – even if one of her pies had burned, and Eric's tie had slipped into the mashed potatoes, and Neil had been drunk before the second course – and it was going to be their best Christmas ever.

It was, too, she was sure, as she flipped through the beautiful leather bound brown photo album she unwrapped the next morning – a gift from Abbey – because it was all there in front of her, shot after shot of their holidays over more than a decade. It was a visual display of Abbey's memories, of Christmas trees and sleds and delicate ornaments and flickering fireplaces and Lego sets and scuba gear and sea monster videos and dinners at Beth's and pies and cookies and upside down candy canes.

It wasn't nearly as perfect as April hoped, though – Abbey's recollections – and she almost winced as she reviewed the large pages, remembering the late shifts she'd worked some years and the struggle to get everything bought and wrapped and the kid's ever missing stockings on the bare mantle and Alex's emergency surgery and the Christmas trees the kids had decorated themselves while she worked to save other people's children and the snow storms and the raging dinner spats between Dani and Neil and the sleds that still might be the death of them and Jenny's snide commentary on her apple pies, which were fattening and the last thing April needed, at least, according to model thin Jenny say it.

It all made her vaguely uneasy, and she nearly stopped breathing entirely hours later, flipping through it again, when it sprawled open – the center page – and she finally noticed it. She hadn't seen every page the first time, and it had never occurred to her that something like that might be there, and she had no idea how Abbey had gotten it, and she was sure it was all Alex's fault – since he'd bought Abbey all those expensive camera lenses over the years - and it was all she could do to wrap her mind around it as her hands flew to her face with a startled shriek, that her daughter was a pornographer.

There was no other word for it, she thought frantically, and her fingers trembled as she traced over the photo, as if to confirm that it was actually there. It was a full page portrait, of course it was, she thought wildly, her heart racing, and it was all right there – the neatly decorated tree, the brightly hung knit stockings, the presents arrayed neatly. It was all perfectly exposed, too – the photo – with all those high definition camera lenses, she imagined, since it captured every detail, the snow fluttering outside the window behind the tree, the fire flickering in the fireplace, bathing the room in an amber sheen, and glinting off the delicate ornaments that glistened in the background, like newly formed icicles.

It figured, too, she insisted, inhaling unsteadily as she scanned the photo even more closely – that Alex's arms were wrapped around her too low to hide her sagging boobs, and too high to conceal her giggly hips; it figured, she exhaled again, still trying to calm herself, that he'd dozed off in just the wrong place, nuzzled just off to the side, leaving her doughy thighs in plain view. Not that they were doing much good for him, either, she noticed, running her finger over the photo carefully, since they did nothing at all to hide it, the evidence that they'd just done it right under the Christmas tree, and their children's neatly hung stockings – since it still pressed lazily against her, half bulging in high definition splendor.

She ran her shaky fingers over the image again, as if trying to erase it – or at least, parts of it, the parts that made her cheeks burn and her throat seize, at the thought that her child had seen any of it, even if she was practically a college student now – and she shuddered at the crystal clarity of it, at the balance and the composition of it – since Abbey really was good at it, photography – and another shriek welled up in her when she finally realized it, that it wouldn't just be Abbey who'd seen it.

Of course it wouldn't, she thought wildly, because Abbey shared her photos with everyone, and sent them to Beth for critiques and suggestions, and it horrified her all over again, and she could already hear it, the snickering from Cari about her flabby thighs, and the snarking from Jenny about Alex's pale ass – featured prominently in the picture's center foreground, bathed in amber light against the sea weed rug – the disapproving commentary from Beth about her own sallow skin, and the cat calls from Dani as she sized Alex up more closely, like a hungry Corgi drooling over a cheese doodle.

It would spread beyond them, too, she was sure, and she could already see it – her mother's horrified expression – and she could already hear it, the chortling as it made its way around the hospital grape vine, and she could just imagine it, the snickering it would spark as it made the rounds of Abbey's and Katie's friends, and she groaned at the thought of it – Katie's inevitable wise cracks – and her stomach dropped into her shoes as she imagined innocent little Eric's disgust and bewilderment at it.

It was all too much, and she shoved the book hastily under her bed, hiding it as best she could, and it kept her on edge for the rest of the day – the thought of that photo making its rounds – and it made her nerves chatter the following morning as her family buzzed happily around her, as Abbey baked cookies and Katie watched sea monster videos with Alex and they all took off sledding as the snow came down harder and it was Jurassic Park again that evening – which had become one of their Christmas traditions, she'd noticed, somewhere along the way – and it might have made sense just then, she imagined wildly, that her sanest child had turned out to be a pornographer – that is, since it had taken her so long to get the Christmas stockings up even for the first time, and one of her favorite traditions – apparently – was watching wild eyed dinosaurs gorge – as if they didn't say it all about their Christmases right there.

It was 2 am that following morning when she pulled it out again, and dragged it down to the basement, and flipped through it as the tree flickered in the background. It was all there, all right – the record of their holidays – and she almost laughed as she scanned the pages, recalling the upside down staircase in Barbie's Dream House – because "Santa" was too stubborn to call the emergency toy help line while he was building it – and Katie's eager modeling of her new SCUBA gear, and Eric's glee as he added the Magic Medieval Castle – complete with working draw bridge – to his modern Lego empire.

It was all there, too – the sledding and the snow ball fights and the dogs dressed up like reindeer; the cookies left out for Santa – who liked Oreos and Chocolate Chips and Sugar cookies shaped like animals – just like dad did, strangely enough; the ornament hanging and the popcorn making and the house decorating and the movie watching and the way they'd track Santa's flight on the Weather Channel. It was all there, she noticed, and the kids were always smiling – even if their stockings weren't hung, or if she'd worked late, or if the house wasn't perfectly in order, or if they had dinner at Beth's.

It was all there, she noticed, and Abbey had captured it all – with close up still life shots of some of April's favorite tree ornaments, and stickers and labels and dates, and her own distinctive commentary, written in her neat calligraphy, no doubt for their ancestors hundreds of years from then. It made April smirk, too, Abbey's remarks written under the pictures, about Eric's over-sized snow shoes, and dad's remote controlled dinosaur, and Katie's first misadventures with make-up, and mom's giraffe earrings and Mrs. DuBois' stylish beret - a gift from dad – like the camera equipment that made it all possible.

It was all there, she nodded, almost groaning as she opened to the middle of the huge album again, and it was still there the next morning, as she stashed it away again and wandered into the kitchen, bracing for the first reviews. It was not at all what she was expecting, though, since Abbey and Alex were making pancakes together, as usual, and Eric was slopping cereal out of his bowl as he padded down the hall in search of the latest sports news, as usual, and Katie was checking the ski conditions on her phone, as usual, and it was all like it always was the first few days after Christmas, and it all just settled peacefully around her as she watched Alex carefully dabbing maple syrup from his brand new prized UC Irvine Dad sweat shirt, while Abbey chattered happily about her up-coming class in advanced fashion photography.

It meant nothing to Alex, April was sure – all the details about Abbey's classes in photo balance and composition – except that Abbey had gotten "A's, in it in high school," and had loved every minute of it, and had used the expensive flash he'd given her the money for every day, and was planning to have the "best semester ever" at college, and would still come home to make pancakes for him, just like she'd promised – and to give him a sweatshirt that made him a part of it, too, even if it was all the way in California – and that was all that mattered to him, she imagined, that Abbey was safe, and happy, and still needed him, and remembered that he liked pecans in them, the pancakes that he devoured while beaming at her.

It was all there, April imagined, and it was still there later that evening – amid more movies and more pizza and more chatter and more snarking about dinosaurs and sea monsters and Mrs. Dubois' fashion choices, and it was all there as the house grew quiet again, and it was all there as she pulled the album from its hiding place, flipping through it again before returning to its center page, captioned "Mom and Dad sure love Christmas."

She could almost hear Abbey giggling at her own play on words, and she wondered what her daughter had thought, really, when she stumbled upon the… scene… such as it was. Not that it could count as pornography, really, she chided herself, since porn stars didn't generally have sagging boobs or mushy thighs or an excessive fondness for pancakes that settled stubbornly beneath their ribs. Smirking again, she traced her finger over the outline of their bodies, as if smoothing away the unfortunate bulges.

It wasn't really necessary, though, she noticed, scanning the photo more closely, because a familiar sleepy smile was etched across Alex's face as he'd settled into her, and her own smile matched his, and he looked perfectly satisfied and comfortable, even with her fingers sunk into it, his budding spare tire, and it looked like it always did, she reminded herself wryly, the familiar bulges pressed contentedly against her thigh, as drowsy as the rest of him, as he slept peacefully beside her.

It was all there, too, she noticed, tracing her finger delicately over the photo again –the flickering fireplace in the back ground, the flurries captured in the window, the glistening ornaments, the golden amber cast of their skin as they curled lazily around each other, and she could still just imagine it, the eye rolling she'd get from Beth, who'd always chortled at the romance novels April read, once upon a time, and the snarking she'd get from Jenny, since Alex wasn't interested in politics at all; she imagined the smirking she'd get from Cari, too, since he hadn't gone to Mayo, and the exasperation she'd hear from Dani, who was sure all guys were as bad as Neil, anyway, when you got right down to it.

She'd hear it from all of them, she imagined, brushing her finger lightly along the photo's edges – if any of them ever saw it. Not that it would matter, she insisted more firmly, straightening up in her seat – since Jenny didn't have an ounce of fat on her body, and still slept alone every night; since Cari went to a higher ranking Residency program, but still wasn't the go to chick in anything; since Beth's happy family photos were always of April's children; since Dani's boobs would always be perkier, but it wasn't like she even much liked the guy who slept on them, and it wasn't like she wouldn't be jealous, either – if she saw the photo – even if Alex did eat too many pancakes, apparently, just going by the photo.

* * *

><p>"You're not taking her?" Alex asked, pointing toward the window seat as Abbey gathered her bags. It was all hyper organized – the way April probably did it when she went to off to Ohio State, he imagined with a smirk – and at least it wasn't just two crappy black trash bags and a beat up old Ford with a leaky radiator – and whatever it was that was coming, she certainly looked eager for it.<p>

"She loves it here," Abbey insisted, shaking her head vigorously as she fluffed Mrs. DuBois' cape and straightened her favorite beret. "She can't wait to see mom's flowers come up," she reminded him, motioning toward the expansive yard below her bed room window seat, the one he'd built when she was a little girl, the one which always had the best view of the creek and the tree line and the sunsets, at least, that's what she always said when she reminded him how jealous all her friends were of it.

"She promised to take a picture of it for me," she added, giggling as she pointed out the simple digital camera beside her on one of the shelves that flanked the window seat. "You'll have to help her," she teased, laughing again, since it had been a running joke with them for years, about how bad he was at it – picture taking – even if it hadn't affected Mrs. DUBois, since she'd be headless regardless.

"Try not to cut the tops off the stems," she reminded him, as she checked over her list. It had all been ready a week ago, he imagined, since she was April all over again, and it was just their thing, carefully labeled storage boxes and lists for everything and numbered suitcases and an emergency duffle bag full of the stuff she'd need her first day – though how a clothes iron counted as emergency supplies to the daughter of a trauma surgeon he'd never get – and he just sighed and nodded as he helped load it all into the shiny Silver Jeep, which – he reminded himself, had every current safety feature available, which was probably why she picked it, since she'd be serious and practical and sensible about it.

"We'll keep it just like this, you know," he muttered, shuffling his feet as he scanned the room. It was still all there, mostly, her antique photo equipment and her sewing machine, the Steamer Trunk he'd gotten her for her 16th birthday and the hurricane lamp on her nightstand, her awards from High School and the fabric covered work table and the books that lined her shelves.

"I'll be home for Spring Break," she reminded him, rolling her eyes. "It's less than two months away," she added, smirking at him.

"Do you need gas money?" he asked, not looking at her as he reached for his wallet.

"Dad," she said, rolling her eyes as he stuffed two twenty dollar bills into her hand. "Aren't you going to give me the lecture again?" she teased.

"I don't lecture," he protested, following her out her bedroom door.

"You ready?" April asked cheerfully, from the foot of the stairs. It was all an act, Alex was sure, even if it all looked like April as usual, the organized travel bag and the neatly folded campus map and the purse sized umbrella in case it rained in Irvine – which it did on average six days year, at least, to hear the college brochure plastered with pictures of muscle bound surfers sprawled across the sandy beaches and hitting on the gorgeous girls – not that it said that, the parents' brochure – say it.

"I think so," Abbey agreed, sorting through her identical travel bag beside April, and he just couldn't imagine it, not that she wasn't great at it – history and art and sewing and baking and photography and basically everything, once she tried it. It was just that it was in California and it was too far away and she was too pretty and the guys in the brochure were too horny and he just didn't like the looks of it.

"We'll follow right behind you," April promised as they piled into their respective cars, Abbey in her shiny Jeep and he and April in the convertible and he couldn't even tell just then if she was trying to rub it in or not – about the practicality of a convertible, since she kept talking about it, the beautiful weather and the open roads and the long highway drive along the coast – and even if it was warmer than the day he drove Mrs. DuBois home with the top down in twenty degree weather, he still didn't want to hear it.

"It's so close to the ocean," April marveled again, pouring over the catalogues and the brochures again as they drove. It was the last thing he wanted her to remind him of, the giggling between Abbey and Katie when they discussed it – beach volley ball after classes and bikini wearing in February and boogey boarding in the surf and body surfing and well, he didn't like the whole freaking sound of it.

It was teeming when they got there, the Freshman quad, and it all looked vaguely familiar, giggling girls in impossibly tight shorts and smirking guys in swim trunks hauling books across the lush grass and more Frisbees flying then he'd imagined possible in one state and palm trees swaying in the faint breeze and it was all just impossibly sunny and the sky was a brilliant blue and it all looked almost fake – like something out of Hollywood – and he just couldn't imagine it, how he would've gotten into Med school after college if he'd had to watch it, the bikinis and the blankets and the, um, beach balls as they bounced past.

"This is it," Abbey announced happily, and she was in the Honors Program, so she'd already scored it – a prized single room, all to herself, and it was already taking shape before he'd lugged even half her neatly labeled storage boxes into it, and it was springing up all around him – her sewing gear and her photography equipment and her decorative scarves and it was all just her, the flowery comforter for the bed and the frilly curtains for the windows and the lush tropical throw rug spreading across the floor and it was her all over again before he knew it, and whoever saw it, he was sure, was going to love it.

"Isn't it great?" she squealed excitedly, peering out her window, and it was certainly a view to rival it, the one from her window at home, since it was all right there in front of her – the crystal blue green Pacific Ocean, as it stretched toward the horizon, and he could almost hear it once she'd cracked the window open, the waves crashing against the beach, and it echoed down the dorm hallways, voices and shrieks and giggling and laughing, and he just couldn't help it –peeking into an open room or two, and he just couldn't shake it, the sense that they looked like on call rooms, and he could just imagine it, people doing it to the pounding rhythm of the surf, as if they weren't even too young to drink, not that that would stop them either, he imagined, at least, it hadn't in college as he recalled it.

"Great," Alex agreed, frowning quietly as April went off to check out the cafeteria.

"It's going to be okay, dad," Abbey insisted, leaning against him and squeezing his arm as she gazed out across it. He wanted to agree with it, too, he did. But it was all still bubbling around them, pouring down the halls and echoing off the walls and he just rolled his eyes when he heard it – two kids making out when they just should've been doing it, hanging curtains or ironing clothes or straightening their throw rugs – and it just made his teeth clench and his stomach churn and his head ache just thinking about it.

"It's noisy in here," he grumbled, scowling at the door. "You can come home if you want to," he added, nodding hopefully. "Maybe go the community college, and work with Beth."

Not that that was a good idea either, he reminded himself, since Beth was the one who had Abbey looking at all those European Fashion magazines, as if anyone ever wore any clothes in them, anyway, - and he'd never get it, how it could count as a fashion portfolio when it was all just different shades of skin – and he just didn't want to imagine it, how all those photo shoots she'd worked on with Beth had made her think about it.

"Dad," she smirked, rolling her eyes again. "Just because they're doing it doesn't mean I will."

It just came out so easily from her, the whole phrase about doing it, and it just made his face redden and his stomach drop into his shoes and his voice catch in his throat and it was supposed to be April's job – talking with the girls about it, since he was fairly sure they'd agreed to it – and it just left him with shaking hands and a mouth run dry and ringing ears just thinking about it, since it wasn't like he wanted the girls to be scared of it, it was just that he didn't want them doing it, when you got right down to it.

"I just-" he sputtered, looking away from it – her curious glance – since it wasn't like he had any words for it.

It was different for chicks, he was sure, just judging from how April felt about it – her first time doing it, since it wasn't anything like his first time, doing it with that hot school nurse with the tight white uniform – not that he'd mention that to the girls, since it wasn't even like he'd told Eric about it – and it wasn't like he could say anything about it – except don't do it –and it wasn't like he could say that either since then he'd be lecturing, which he never did – no matter what the kids said about it – and it wasn't like it would work on them, anyway, lectures, since he'd seen that before, too, plenty of kids doing it just because people told them not to do it, as if that wouldn't guarantee they'd do it the first chance they got.

"I just-" he sputtered again, almost squirming in his jacket, because it was warm and a little stuffy in the dorm room and he could already imagine it, people walking around half dressed because of it.

"I know, dad," she giggle, rolling her eyes. "Don't do it if he's not worth it. I heard you the first thousand times you said it."

"I didn't-" he protested, scowling back at her, and he didn't, because it wasn't like he lectured, and it wasn't like he talked to her about it every day and it wasn't like he could remember saying anything more than that, or even more than a few times, as far as he recalled it.

"It was implied," she teased, squeezing his arm again.

* * *

><p>It had been a long, quiet ride home, and she knew better than to point it all out – the beautiful scenery and the vast, expansive bridges and the palm trees swaying in the golden sunshine – since it wasn't like he was dealing with it very well, even if he'd deny it. It wasn't like he'd admit she was his favorite, even if she was fairly sure that everyone saw it, and wasn't like they were supposed to do it – play favorites – but it was hard not to, she imagined, when one daughter was an Honors student and a bubbly, auburn haired beauty and the other really was a "mouthy, stubborn, hot headed, too damn smart for her own good pain in the ass" – at least to hear him tell it.<p>

Not that she thought about it over the next few weeks or so, as Abbey did it again, got her first set of A's, and Katie did it again, changed her major – as if even the university could keep track of it – and Eric did it again, defied death to snag another trophy for hurtling down it again, another snow covered mountain – and she imagined it had worked like this in Ohio, too, once upon a time, where Beth was the talented one and Dani was the pretty one and Jenny was the smart one and Cari was the ambitions one and April was the one who – who wasn't any of the other ones – as far as she could see it.

It wasn't quite like that, though, she imagined – looking back on it – since she was always the one they came to – Beth for help with her projects and Jenny to listen to her opinions and Dani to admire her clothes and her hair and Cari to give her advice about biology and Med school boards – and she even wondered if it had started back then, her being the go to chick in trauma, since Beth's projects were always emergencies, to hear her tell it, and Jenny could never handle it, if anyone actually disagreed with her, and nothing said "let's panic" to Dani faster than a stain on a white shirt or a dribble of nail polish on a new purse, and it wasn't like Cari had aced the Medical boards the first time, no matter how she told it.

It was just who they were, she imagined, Abbey and Katie – just like her sisters – and she was done with it, she insisted, trying to focus Katie on it – on Anthropology or Anatomy or Astronomy of whatever her passion of the week was – even if it was driving her crazy. She wouldn't mention it to Eric, either, at least she'd try not to, the statistics about skiing injuries, and she wasn't going to mention it to Abbey, either, that she really hoped that her doing it in high school had been a onetime thing, and that she wouldn't even think about it in college, even if it was all around her, just judging from it, the way all the kids at the school dressed, as if they wouldn't mind doing it as casually as people did it in the on-call rooms at the hospital, even if the people at the hospital were at least adults, at least, to read what the ages on their drivers licenses said about it.

Not that you could tell it by listening to the grapevine chatter, she thought with a smirk, since it always picked up around Valentine's Days, and it was always the same – wishing and hoping and delivering ultimatums and even offering a proposal or two, and she just rolled her eyes as she listened to it, the excited chatter about romantic plans, and she just smirked as she glanced at it, the catalogue of racy lingerie someone had left at the Nurses' station. Not that it would do her any good, anyway, since she was fairly sure of it, that even if it wasn't another trip to the Museum of Medical Oddities, it wasn't like he was in the mood to be creative about it, and it wasn't like a skimpy iridescent red halter top would help, anyway, since it still wouldn't trump doing it with Wonder Woman for him, at least, as far as she could tell it.

It was crazy, anyway, she reminded herself, his fantasy about doing it with Wonder Woman – though it might cheer him up a little, she thought with a smirk, and it wouldn't be hard to find, assuming she could pay cash for it, since it wasn't like she'd ever admit to buying or owning it.

It wasn't nearly as tight as she thought it would be, though, and it wasn't like they dug in or anything – the cones for her boobs, which were firm rubber and cushiony and padded, and more comfortable than her usual bras, when she got right down to it, and it wasn't like it didn't shape her in ways she'd never imagined, she finally admitted it, the night she wore it under her robe, and it was a little silly and fumbly and awkward first but it just set her giggling all over again, the look on his face when he finally saw it.

"You like it?" she teased, giggling as the robe dropped away.

"Hot," he muttered, nodding eagerly, and it just sent a shiver through her body, the feel of his hands on her hips, and it just set her trembling, how his hands and his eyes and his lips traced over her, and it just had her hands shaking slightly, the electricity crackling through her as his clothes joined hers on the floor, and it just set her giggling when he finally asked her – breathless and bright eyed and frantically eager and gasping and trembling as she fingered it – "Want me to.. get my… Batman cape… on?"

She wanted to get it on with him, she thought with a smirk, but it hadn't exactly been her Valentine's Day fantasy – doing it with Batman – and she could already imagine it, the laughing from the nurses and the teasing from her sisters if word ever got out about it, that she'd done it in full Wonder Woman dress, and it wasn't like it made much sense to cover it, even with a cape, since it was already pretty much ready, just judging from how excitedly it was already throbbing in her grasp.

"I like this costume better, remember?" she insisted, sliding her hands across his body, not that she wanted to take away from it, the fantasy, if that was part of it – him being Batman, while he was doing it with Wonder Woman. He'd never really mentioned it, though, and it wasn't like he seemed all that concerned about it, since it wasn't like he could take his eyes off it – the way the cones shaped her boobs – and she just smirked as she imagined it, that it might be a more practical outfit than she'd ever realized for a female superhero, since it wasn't like he could focus on anything else while his eyes were locked on it, even as her own grasped tightened around it.

"Uh-uhg," he groaned after she'd said it, and she hadn't quite heard it before, that particular response, even though she'd been doing it with him for over fifteen years, and she just couldn't help it, cackling again, since it just made her feel it – like she was an actual superwoman – and it wasn't like she could reposition it, just judging from the way he shuddered as she straddled it, and it wasn't like she could imagine it, not being on top of it – just from how her costume shaped it – and it wasn't like she could dampen it, her own piercing shriek, and it wasn't like she couldn't feel it even through the rubber cones, the heat of his hands, and it wasn't like she could control it – the heaving of her chest as she rolled off of it – and it wasn't like it didn't make her blush, the way he watched the rise and fall of it, and it wasn't like it would surprise her if she just melted into it – like Lava Girl after an attack – the clasp of his hands as he surrounded it, the quivering foam rubber, since it wasn't like it deadened the feeling of it at all.

"You like it?" she asked again, nearly an hour later, her hands still wandering over him as he curled lazily around her.

"Best-" he muttered, gasping again as she closed her fingers around it, since it was still pulsing quietly, even as it softened, and it was still rippling through her, as he struggled to regain his breath, and it was still making him moan softly, no matter how slightly she fingered it.

"Valentines'-" he stammered, and it was mostly piled on the bed at that point, her costume, except for the foam rubber cones, and it just made her twitch and tremble all over again, the feel of it as his hands brushed over them, again, and she'd have to rethink it, she imagined – the part about how it would be a practical outfit for a female superhero, since it wasn't like he wasn't dissolving her completely into it – the feel of the foam rubber pressed into her boobs – and it wasn't like she could imagine it, fending his hands off, even if it was still throbbing in her grasp, not that she'd actually squeeze it, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like Wonder Woman would do that to it, well, unless maybe it was endangering the League of Justice.

"Day-" he gasped again, and it wasn't like she could hear it all that well, since it was still throbbing in her ears and coursing through her veins and pounding in her chest and boiling in her limbs and she could just feel it as it lazed against her thigh, while his hands and his lips continued it, finally nuzzling it aside as his fingers slid underneath it, making her trembled and shudder and moan softy again.

"Ever-" he murmured, slipping it leisurely from her as his hands and his eyes and his lips rummaged over her again. She actually missed it, she thought with a smirk, the well-shaped cones, even if it wouldn't be especially comfortable for him to sleep on, she imagined, noticing his familiar sleepy expression, since it was almost like having Dani's boobs – high and firm and always standing straight up at attention – and it was exciting, she admitted, the way the material brushed against her skin, and it was thrilling, she admitted, the look in his eyes when he saw it, and it was intoxicating – the feel of it surging through her as she imagined it, Wonder Woman doing it atop some mere mortal – not that she was up on it enough, her superhero lore, to remember if Wonder Woman was immortal or not – even if it had been all his fault, since she would've waited for him to put on his Batman costume if he'd really wanted to wear it.

* * *

><p>"Then you do it," Bailey snapped, shoving the folder back into Alex's chest. It was always like this, he reminded himself, as he glared back at her, and he got it, that she was the Chief of Surgery and that she didn't want to hear it and that she just wanted it all to run smoothly – the NICU – however all her "idiot Attendings" managed it. It was just that he wasn't doing it – Simms – the latest in the revolving door of interim Department Heads, and it was screwing the Nurses, Simms' basic incompetence – when you got right down to it – and it was all coming back at Alex, their anger over it, and it freaking wasn't even his job, and he still didn't want it, he insisted, no matter what Bailey said about it.<p>

It had already run from March through May, his feud with the new interim head of the NICU, and it was the last thing the hospital needed, yet more turnover in policies and procedures and staff, and it was the last thing the nurses wanted, another arrogant blowhard who just didn't get it, at least, the way they described it – and it wasn't like he would ask any further after it, what it was Simms didn't get, since it wasn't like chicks could ever explain it – what it was they were pissed about, exactly, when they just sputtered that you didn't get it, as if you could - if they couldn't even tell you what it freaking was.

Simms was a moron, though, no matter how anyone described it, and Bailey could cite it all she wanted to, his long resume, and it still wouldn't hide it, Simms' troubles with the nurses, and it still wouldn't stop them from griping about it to Alex – about how Simms just ignored it – how hard they worked and how vital they were, at least to hear them tell it. Not that he doubted it. It was just that it wasn't like he could do anything about it, not when the only option Bailey gave him was to freaking run it himself.

He'd already tried it, though – he reminded her tersely, before he watched her walk away, still squawking and chortling at him about it, every time she mentioned it, and it had been a complete disaster and he just hated it, staffing and schedules and disputes with suppliers and he just didn't want to hear it – about how they couldn't afford it, whatever it was that the nurses swore up and down to him that they needed – as if he could freaking print money for it.

It buzzed just then, his phone, and it scrawled across the screen as he read it, the cryptic text that said merely "didn't do it," and he just rolled his eyes his eyes at it, the latest text from Katie, that it would be shark tagging in South Africa that summer – that is, if it wasn't opening a swamp shelter for homeless salamanders in San Salvador, at least, that's how it had sounded. Not that she would decide it until hours before she'd need a plane ticket for it, since really, why plan any of it when it was all up in the air anyway, even at thirty thousand dollars a year plus books and fees, whether it was going to be marine science or conservation biology or maybe population ecology or environmental studies, which as far as he could tell somehow involved all of it, even if it wouldn't lead to a job in any of it – whatever it was.

It wasn't like he hadn't agreed with April about it, though, he reminded himself, rubbing his hands over his face as he scanned the rest of his messages, that it was best to let the kids follow their interests.

It wasn't like they didn't have the money to let them do it – whatever it was they wanted – it was just that with Eric it was skis and lift tickets and lab fees and he was already gunning for it – a spot at Cal Tech, and with Abbey it was fabric and camera crap and books and gas money and she was already after it – a job doing whatever it was people did with fashion and photography – but with Katie it was plane tickets to who know where, to do who knows what, to the point it wasn't even clear she understood it.

He spotted it immediately, though, his last text from Eric and he replied to it instantly – "just hide it" – since it wasn't like Eric hadn't needed it, the new ski pole, it was just that he didn't want to explain it, how it had broken, his old one.

It wasn't like that big a deal, to hit a slalom gate when you wiped out on it, the course over near the third run, and it wasn't like he hadn't nearly nailed it – the hardest run at the whole resort – and it wasn't like Eric didn't know how to handle it, when his skis started to track like that, and it wasn't like it had even bruised or anything, his wrist, since the broken ski pole had broken most of it – his fall –and it wasn't like April would even see it on U-tube, since Alex had already warned Eric and his friends not to post the U-tube video of it under his name – his pretty cool total wipe out - or April might see it.

It wasn't lying either, he reminded himself, smirking as he watched it again on his phone – it was just thinking ahead – since there was no reason to worry April about it, and it wasn't like it hadn't even been on sale, the new ski pole, and it wasn't like it wasn't pretty cool – the way Eric raced down that mountain as if he didn't even notice it, the icy patches and the shadows and the steep drops – no matter what April said about it, and it was pretty impressive, really, the growing collection of medals and trophies he was earning for it, since he was definitely in it to win.

It popped into his new messages column a moment later, a cheery "I got it!" from Abbey, followed immediately by a teasing "You did it!" with a smiley face on it, and he just shook his head at it, because it had taken him several tutorials from Eric before he managed it, snapping a photo of the flower garden below her bedroom after it bloomed back to life.

He could already hear her giggling commentary on it, too, the minute he answered her actual phone call – about how it "wasn't even blurry" and it was actually "focused on their yard, and not Mrs. Branbarry's birdhouses," – and how she could actually see it, the colors of the flowers, even with the sun streaming through them – and about how he must have gotten the aperture opening with .67 degrees of accuracy – not that he was prepared to argue it – though at least she wasn't going on about it, again, the last picture he'd tried to send her, which "would've been great," she'd assured him, giggling, if his blurry finger print hadn't covered it.

He reminded her of it again, that he wasn't a freaking photographer, and it wasn't like he needed to be, since he was paying thirty grand a year for her to learn about it – about apertures and F-stops and how to keep her fingers out of the way of it, and he just sighed as he heard it, that she'd be working at it with Beth again that summer, using her expensive education, apparently, to take more pictures for those European magazines who thought nothing of it, of having his daughter photograph guys who saw no need to cover it up for the camera no matter who was behind it.

At least she'd be home again, soon, he reminded himself, smirking as she hung up with a brisk "Thanks again, dad," and he was sure it would pop into his message column in another day or two, her usual "I did it," when she finally confirmed that she'd done it again, gotten perfect grades.

She'd already promised it, too – that she was bring some pecans home just to make it, her signature pancake breakfast – and he could already taste it even as he pictured it, a big bag of pecans toted in her neatly labeled travel bags, along with her perfectly folded umbrella and her travel guides stored in alphabetical order and her fruit and mineral water stash and the battery powered iron she insisted on carrying everywhere – for fashion emergencies on the high way – not that he could imagine it.

He'd laughed at it once, too, he remembered with a smirk – April's compulsive organizing and planning – and he'd teased Abbey about it plenty of times, but it wasn't like Katie couldn't use a bit of it, maybe not quite as much as Abbey, and maybe a little more than Eric if only because he was tired of hearing it – April after him to pick it all up, his books or his lab reports or his backpack or his ski boots, since it was always everywhere except where it was supposed to be, at least to hear her tell it. It was just that it wouldn't hurt Katie to be a little more like April, even if they'd agreed not to pressure her about it.

It wasn't like April needed it, either, he reminded himself, checking his watch again as he noticed it, that she'd be landing back in Seattle in a few hours.

It wasn't an easy flight, no matter what she said about it, and she was nervous as hell about it, no matter how much she denied it, and he would've gone to the airport to get her if she hadn't insisted upon it – that she didn't want it – and he wasn't going to fight her about it, not when she was already freaked no matter what her father's doctors had said about it, that the surgery to implant the pace maker had gone well, that it was working perfectly, that it was all uneventful, as if any surgeon would ever believe that about any heart procedure, when you got right down to it.

It wasn't like he could do much about it, though, he grumbled to himself – since she still squawked about it, the time he'd had Cristina look over it, her father's files, and he was sure he'd hear about it, about the strawberry frozen yogurt that he'd stock piled because she always needed it when she freaked – that it would just go straight to her hips.

He'd already read Eric the riot act about it, though, about picking up all his crap when he got home from school that day, and it wasn't like he hadn't done it already – dug enough holes in the yard to plant a whole orchard of bulbs in it – and it wasn't like there was anything he could say about it, even if he'd hear about it, anyway – about the messy sink and the un-alphabetized pantry and the cryptic texts from Katie and Eric's permission slips for the advanced summer science program – when really she was just terrified about it, even if she wouldn't admit it.

He wouldn't even mention it, he reminded himself with a grimace, the latest envelop that Abbey had gotten from the adoption agency, since it always freaked April out, too – as if it could even freaking do it at that point, the whole fucking system, take the girls from them – and it wasn't like she needed it, to start worrying all over again about whether the girls really thought it – that they weren't really their parents – and it wasn't like she needed to worry about it, either, since it wasn't like Abbey was going to do it, try to track down her biological parents, and even if she did, it wasn't like that would make them her real parents, when you got right down to it.

It wouldn't, he reminded himself, exhaling heavily as he sat back on a bench in the ambulance bay, the first chance he had to do in almost ten hours, just try to catch it, his laboring breath, no matter what the fucking forms said about it, because it wasn't like they were there when the girls needed them, and it wasn't like they could just fucking wipe all that away – even if Abbey might be pretty forgiving about it – and it wasn't like they could just barge back into the girls' lives no matter what April said about it – about how it might be good for them, and about how they should support it.

It wasn't like he doubted it, he reminded himself – that she wanted to do it right, all of it – it was just that the girls were freaking theirs, and it wasn't like any fucking agency could rewrite history, and it wasn't like it would do the girls any good to be reminded of it – that they'd been left behind, that their parents hadn't even given a crap about it – since it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all before, and it wasn't like April knew what it was like – since it wasn't like she wasn't flying thousands of miles round trip just because of it, because she had a freaking family, even if she had to worry about it – it was just that she'd never get it, really, that if you never had it before, you'd fight like hell to keep it, no matter what some fucking forms said about it.

She wouldn't get it, he reminded himself, checking it again after his last surgery – his phone – and it had been delayed, her plane, he noticed, and he could still get there in plenty of time according to it, the data on the airport website, and it wasn't like it might not be too late for her to be taking a cab, if it was delayed much longer, and he was driving toward it before he knew it, and he was plopped in one of those hard plastic benches scowling at it – the whole airport thing, since he really hated it, flying and traveling in general, really, when you got right down to it – and he'd never get it, really, he thought idly, why Beth would fly all over the world for it, when she could get pictures of it right in Seattle – and it all just blurred into a dimly lit haze of noise and crowds and announcements as he waited for it.

* * *

><p>"I told you that you didn't have to do it," she reminded him, settling into the car as he stashed her bags in the trunk.<p>

"Um-huh," he agreed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

It had taken her all day, and she was just too tired for it, to fill in the silence, and she just sat back and watched it, as the city lights gave way to tree lined streets, and she just studied it, the darkness that settled around them as he plowed through it, and it just ran through her mind all over again – her to do list – and she just didn't want to think about it.

She noticed it immediately when she walked into the kitchen, the dishes in the sink, including Nicholas' little Batman plate, and she could just imagine it, what Eric and Alex and Nicholas had been eating the night he stayed over with them – since it hadn't been planned, her latest trip, and it wasn't like she'd had time to warn Amber about it, that it would probably be pizza and frozen yogurt and science fiction movies if it was left unsupervised, dinner with the Karev men, and she just added it to her list – to phone Amber in the morning – as she searched for it, her favorite tea cup with the butterfly on it.

She scanned through the mail as it simmered, her tea water, and she just rolled her eyes at it, the thick brown envelop shoved under the wicker mail basket. He swore it was just because they "tipped the freaking basket over" – that he shoved it beneath it, as if that did anything to hide it, the looming reminders that Katie and Abbey would have to make some decision about it as they went through college and aged out of it, the system that was determined to unsettle them, as far as April saw it.

Not that she was going to push them about it, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like they might not be curious about it, and it wasn't like there hadn't been stories about it – in ten second news clips, right between weather reports and new recipes – about happy reunions between biological parents and their children - and it wasn't like Alex was exactly objective about it, the whole system, no matter what he said about it.

She'd promised herself she wasn't going to think about it, though, she reminded herself, as she scaled the steps, and she'd just leave it until the following morning – the mail and her travel bag unpacking and the disordered pantry – because it had already been swirling around in her head all day, her dad's health and her mother's forced cheer and the long flight and she was just tired of it, all of it, she muttered, as she climbed out of the shower, and she was not going to think about it, she repeated, as she climbed into their bed, and she might actually be able to sleep for a change if she just plain ignored it.

It just wouldn't stop though, and she couldn't help it, and it spilled out the minute he crawled into the bed besides her almost smelling of it – chocolate frozen yogurt - by the scent of it.

"Did you hear from Katie?" she asked, readjusting herself as the bed dipped beside her.

"She didn't do it," he muttered, leaning back into his pillow, and it wasn't like he had to make it any clearer, his impatience with Katie's indecision, even if he didn't say anything about it. Not that she didn't get it, since, really, Katie should have planned it all out months ago, since it was already early June.

"How about Abbey?" April asked, rubbing her hands across her eyes.

"She got it," he smirked, nodding smugly.

She almost giggled at his expression, because he was actually proud of it, finally managing to send her a clearer snapshot – which it was, sort of, she'd noticed, when Abbey had forwarded it – it was just that it was still a little out of focus, as if Nicholas had taken it.

"You should've let Mrs. DuBois take it," April teased. She was entirely too tired for it, they both were, but she couldn't help it – repeating Abbey's joke – since it wasn't like she'd ever get it, her family's very warped humor, but it wasn't like she could deny it, that Mrs. DuBois was a part of it.

"She was busy," he grumbled, sighing as April slid her arms around him.

"Came to the pizza party, did she?" April teased, closing her fingers around it, the extra padding below his ribs, not that it concerned her or anything, it was just that it was something her father's doctor had said about it – about diet and exercise and keeping it all healthy – not that she worried about it.

"It had vegetables on it," he protested, almost squirming as she sank her fingers further into it.

"I'm sure it did," she smirked, trying to imagine it. "Right next to the dinosaur Gummi bears."

"He likes it that way," Alex shrugged tiredly, pulling her closer.

"Um-hum," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "It went pretty well," she added quietly.

"That's good," Alex agreed, sighing softly as she burrowed closer into him.

"My mom just has to stop worrying about it, now," she insisted, sliding her fingers along his chest, not that she was checking for it, she reminded herself, the rhythm of his heart beat or the steady in and out of his breathing or the flow of blood through his aorta, it was just that she it had been a while since she'd felt it, and it had annoyed her, how much she missed it.

"Yeah," he agreed. "She does," he added, his lips brushing her hair.

"My sisters have to cut it out, too," she insisted, shaking her head. "Cari was flirting with the Cardiologist," she reported, rolling her eyes. "And Beth asked him if he'd ever done it hooked up to a heart monitor. Don't even think about it," she continued, frowning at him as she slid her fingers down teasingly over his thighs.

"We'd have to do it at the hospital for that," he pointed out, sleepily tugging her closer.

"I'm not that kind of a girl," she snickered, slowing her movements as he nuzzled into her, already dozing. She wasn't either, she reminded herself – even if she'd been doing it occasionally as Wonder Woman for the past few months, now, not that they were doing it at all that evening, she thought with a smirk, since it was already as drowsy as the rest of him, even as it quivered sleepily in her hands, and it wasn't like she had the energy for it at the moment, even if she had missed it.

They'd have to do it the next day, though, she reminded herself, almost giggling again at his completely blissed out expression as she continued to finger it, because she didn't even want to imagine it, Abbey coming home and walking in on it – Wonder Woman doing it with Batman – and possibly snapping a picture of it, and letting it loose on the hospital grapevine, as if that wouldn't be even worse, she imagined, than being doing caught doing it at the hospital while hooked up to a heart monitor, since it wasn't like people hadn't already been doing it that way at Seattle Grace for years, at least, to hear the nurses on the fifth floor tell it.

She giggled at the thought of it, though, how much it would scandalize them – the pretty young nurses – that she was doing it with Alex in costume, not that she'd want them having a picture of it, she reminded herself, her eyes following her fingers as she traced over it again, since it wasn't like the Bat cape covered it up much, and it wasn't like it wouldn't still be pornography – even if it did look a little like one of the floating rubber organs in the greenish yellow jars at the Museum of Medical Oddities, at least, when it was drowsy.

It was just that she wasn't that type of girl, she reminded herself, giggling as she studied it more closely, as her fingers lingered around it, and it was just that she didn't want them eying it, even if it did remind her a little of those things in the glass jars, when she looked clinically close at it.

She'd hear about it from Beth again, though, she imagined, rolling her eyes again as she settled back into him, about how she'd been prudish about it when she scowled at her for it, for talking about doing it – during a consult with a cardiologist, not that she couldn't imagine it, Cristina Yang chortling about it like the Cardio doc had, since really they all had it, Cardio types, that whole "let's do it" attitude – about how she was being squeamish about it, as if it wasn't April's job as a mother to ask about it, the work that Abbey would be doing with, um, it, again that summer, as if it was the greatest thing in the world that Abbey's favorite aunt would've done it at the drop of a stethoscope just to say she'd done it while in a hospital hooked up to a heart monitor, as if that was even unusual, to hear the young nurses tell it.

Not that it mattered, April reminded herself the following week, since Abbey was back by then and at it again, photographing it, even if was still pornography, no matter what Beth called it, although at least Abbey wasn't talking about it – about doing it in college.

She was focused on it instead, her work, and she was great at it, and she probably would've heard more about it from Alex except that she was smiling at him and plying him with pecan pancakes and it was their little breakfast club all over again and he was obviously thrilled just to have her home, just judging from how often he wore it – the UC Irvine Dad shirt she'd given him for Father's day – even if he insisted it was just because it was "freaking comfortable."

It must have been, she giggled, watching as he pulled it over his head again as they dressed the next morning, and she'd just roll her eyes at him and ignore him when he commented on it – on her color coded file folder with the theme park maps and the tickets for the rides all neatly arranged – because he'd appreciate it when they didn't have to wait in line for it – and she just tossed another shirt in her travel bag for him, too, because it's not like he'd want to get it wet, his prized new gift, and it's not like that wasn't guaranteed – since it was Nicholas' first time at the water park, at least to hear Alex explain it, bright eyed and eager as he imagined it – and it wasn't like she wouldn't need to have her hands free anyway when he won it – the giraffe blow up pool toy or the giraffe shaped duffle bag or the giraffe covered little jewelry box – because it wasn't like they could get out of one of these places without it – some giraffe trophy he'd won for her – even though he snarked on her for it, her "herd," as if he hadn't had a hand in collecting it.

She laughed at it anyway, his serious expression as he helped steady Nicholas' hands as he aimed it – the squirt water gun, and she giggled as Nicholas came running toward her with it twenty minutes later, the gangly little stuffed squid he'd finally won, as he hoisted it triumphantly, and she just nodded at it – as Abbey praised him profusely and asked him to pose for a picture with it – and she just nodded when he asked for it, more cotton candy, and she just nudged Abbey and asked her to get a picture of it, too, Alex's serious grimace as he battled for it – the hulking black and yellow dappled giraffe on the display, as if their bedroom even had room for it – firing away as if his entire world depended on him winning it.


	23. Chapter 23

It sat on the counter for the whole summer, just where he left it, under the wicker mail basket, and Abbey never mentioned what she might do with it – the envelop that was basically fucking reminding her that she wasn't just theirs, when you got right down to it.

It just simmered like a ticking time bomb, and he ignored it, too, when she slid another steaming plate across the kitchen counter to him, and she remembered it, like she always did, to put pecans in the pancake batter – and it just bubbled around them like it always did, Abbey and Eric snarking on each other before they piled into her shiny Silver Jeep.

It was just like it always had been, Abbey teasing Eric about girls and him squawking about having to fork over gas money if he wanted it, a ride to his summer science program while she was on her way to work at Beth's – since she would drive right past it, anyway - and Alex just smirked at it on that sunny July morning, since it was just how he remembered it, before it had all changed in a heat beat.

"You don't have to wear it," Abbey giggled, as she playfully tugged it, his beloved UC Irvine Dad tee shirt, with a stethoscope-holding anteater wearing a lab coat on it.

"We just made them for fun," she reminded him, laughing again.

"Mrs. DuBois likes it," he pointed out, rolling his eyes at April's survival gear for their latest trip.

"Aren't you going to remind her that you're paying thirty grand a year for it?" April snickered as she scanned her lists, since it had become a running joke among the girls, apparently, his occasional mention of it, as if it ever hurt to remind them that it was an investment in their future, even if they spent part of it sprawled on beaches or tucked away in the Fashion Lab making kick ass t-shirts during it.

"She's here," April noted, as Abbey went to answer the doorbell.

It all erupted as Nicholas charged into the room with it, his little kid's first digital camera – a gift from Beth for his recent birthday – and it almost made Alex shudder that Nicholas might ask him about it, how it worked or where its batteries went or how to focus it – since it wasn't like Abbey wouldn't snicker at him again if he fumbled with it and it wasn't like Nicholas wasn't a little too young for it, anyway, even if he did seem to be a natural at it.

"I'm almost ready," April called breathlessly, as she charged out of the room.

She was still gathering it – emergency flares or jumper cables or an Epi pen or the first aid kit or whatever else she was probably alphabetizing in her back up travel bag, as if no one would survive the trip without it.

He just stood awkwardly and watched Abbey and Amber chattering happily about it – their trip and the brochures and the map of it – and it was great, he reminded himself, that he was getting along better with Amber these days – at least to hear April talk about it – even if it was mainly about Nicholas and him needing it, no matter what they said about it.

"So Beth gave you the day off for it?" Amber teased, happily accepting the soda can that Abbey had retrieved for her, and giggling as if they were all in on it – whatever it was – since it wasn't like it ever stopped, the plotting of the estrogen brigade, no matter what they said about it.

"I wouldn't miss it," Abbey agreed, snickering herself and enthusiastically spreading out her portfolio on the counter where Amber could see it.

He almost stopped it abruptly until he realized it, that it wasn't her latest photo shoot for that European Vogue trash rag. It was her school project, and it wasn't half a minute before Amber wasn't oohing and aahing over it – the fashion line Abbey had devised for her final exam in Dressology or Skirtomics or whatever they called it, all the fashion stuff, and he just rolled his eyes at Nicholas as the little boy eyed it with a mischievous smirk.

"Is that for the headless lady upstairs?" he asked with a frown as he pointed to it, a flowing cape. "It looks like Batman's," he added, pointing to the Halloween picture that still hung on the refrigerator.

"It's updated," Abbey insisted seriously, motioning to the darts in the side.

"And it goes great with that A-line," Amber noted, running her finger delicately over the drawing as she admired the flowing skirt sketched just beneath it.

"You like it?" Abbey asked, nodding cheerfully. "I could make one for you."

"Really?" Amber asked hopefully. "I love it. The cut, and that color, it's perfect."

"Sure," Abbey agreed. "I've already got the pattern cut out."

"Won't it look different on her?" Alex asked, motioning with his eyes toward Amber, "since she has a head and all."

"Dad, seriously," Abbey insisted, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah," Amber agreed, smirking at his shirt. "You're not one to give fashion commentary."

"She made it, too," Alex insisted smugly. "I like it," he protested, scowling and surveying it more closely.

"My roommate and I made it," Abbey added, motioning to Amber to straighten up as she pulled out her measuring tape and collected a few numbers.

"One of the girls in our class was always bragging about her dad's big law firm. I told her that my dad saves babies," she continued proudly. "It shut her right up," she nodded firmly.

"I'll bet," Amber agree, sipping her soda. "Did you tell her how hard it is, the whole field?"

"No," Abbey smirked, rolling her eyes towards Alex. "He talks about it enough."

"Only with Meredith," he sputtered.

Sure he'd mentioned it a few times, when Mere had been over with her kids. But it wasn't like he didn't hear it from her, about how it wasn't brain surgery, and it wasn't like he didn't it from Yang – all the way from freaking San Francisco – that it wasn't Cardio, and it wasn't like he didn't still hear it from the giggling nurses sometimes, the oohing and aahing over how could pick up a baby without dropping it – as if it was a big freaking surprise, since it wasn't like they weighed much.

"And mom," he muttered reluctantly.

And sure he'd talked about it with her, since it wasn't like it wasn't hard core, neonatal and Peads, even if it wasn't Trauma, and it wasn't like double board certification was easy to get, and it wasn't like he wasn't a kick ass surgeon even if he didn't want to run it, his whole freaking department, and it wasn't like he was the freaking Stork, no matter what Yang said about it.

"Don't mention it," Abbey cautioned Amber teasingly. "It'll just go to his head."

"What?" he scoffed. "That I save babies?"

"See," Abbey noted, rolling her eyes.

"Is he going on about that, again?" April asked, laughing as she reentered the room with another travel bag.

"I can deliver a baby with less equipment than it takes you to get downtown," he grumbled, motioning to the neatly arrayed collection of travel bags piling up on the counter.

"You'll be begging for it," April corrected him, holding up the bag of miniature Snickers bars she'd just stashed into the last one.

"Have you been there before?" Amber asked, scanning the brochure as she gathered Nicholas' back pack and her own purse as they prepared to load the car.

"The Museum of Medical Oddities?" April smirked, rolling her eyes at Alex. "Sure. We've gone there for Valentine's Day.

"Seriously?" Amber snickered. "So that's why Beth said-"

"He's not very romantic," Abbey agreed, laughing as she helped Nicholas pop the batteries back into his camera, before taking his hand.

"You loved it," Alex insisted, shaking his head smugly at April as he helped pick up her bags and haul them toward the door.

* * *

><p>She did love it – the Museum of Medical Oddities – all of it, really, even the glowing rubber organ in weird translucent green fluid that reminded her of it, how it looked after she'd did it with him, when it was still quivering beneath her fingers or wedged against her thigh.<p>

She just smirked as she thought about it, and she just giggled when Abbey snapped a picture of it – and she really hoped Abbey didn't see the resemblance, since, technically, that would make it count as pornography, too, even if she had snapped it on public display.

She loved it, too, she admitted, glancing across the cafeteria as she placed her salad and soda on her tray, that Amber and Alex were already squabbling over it – the visible human anatomy kit he'd gotten for Nicholas – about how Alex was spoiling him with it, about how cool it was for a six year old to be able to build it, as if it was only the six year old who thought it was cool, about how it would make Nicholas hyper, M&M's sprinkled on his pizza slice, about how it was all "just a myth" and he should know it, since he was in Peads – and she just smirked as she listened to it, because it was just how Beth and Cari would've squabbled over it, and it was just how siblings were, when you got right down to it.

It was just how Katie and Abbey had done it, she recalled, how they'd finally worked it all out, back when Katie moved up into the attic, and Abbey got seriously into photography, back when they got their own friends and interests before they did it, started working with Beth, started sharing rides to the mall, started teaming up on poor Eric, started talking about college and music and clothes and even about doing it – at least, as far as April could tell, since Katie had known about Abbey doing it before she had heard anything about it, and Katie hadn't been shocked by it, and that was sort of how it went with her and her own sisters – and her mother -April remembered with a grimace, when she thought back on it.

Not that she wanted to think about it, she reminded herself as she glanced down at her phone, since she still hadn't heard much from Katie about it – about her flight to Australia to catch up with her school's summer research program. She'd be tagging Great White Sharks along the pristine beaches – and living in simple dorms, with the other college kids who were studying it – marine biology or ocean ecology or maritime geography or continental cartography or whatever her major was that week – the tanned, muscular kids who probably thought nothing of doing it on open air research boats while tracking the mating habits of the other sleek, skilled predators who were doing it.

She wasn't going to think about it, she reminded herself as she dropped her phone back into her purse.

She wasn't going to imagine it, either – what treasure Alex had picked up for her in the Museum gift shop, since it wasn't like he could resist it, snagging her a lighted pumping lung key chain or a blinking eye pen or a miniature iridescent purple lava lamp with the little floating double kidney in it – which just was not evidence that the Martians the government allegedly experimented on in New Mexico – which they didn't - might have an advanced internal organ structure no matter what he said about it.

She wasn't going to think about it the following month, either, as she planned her annual July picnic, and it wasn't going to bother her, that Katie was basically dangling herself like fresh meat around all those sharks no matter how big the research boat looked in the pictures she sent or how safe the program was, to hear her college describe it.

She wasn't going to think about it, either, about the thick envelop under the wicker basket or the "big bang" Eric was planning for the party – as if that chemistry set Alex had gotten him hadn't been asking for trouble no matter what Alex said about it – or about Katie doing it in Australia, not that – even if she did – Katie would tell her about it.

She'd think about her picnic instead, and she'd invite Meredith and some other people from the hospital to it, and she'd have Amber bring it again that year – her signature fruit punch – and she'd remind Alex and Eric and Nicholas about it, that the creek monster was not welcome at it, and that muddy footprints tracked across her kitchen floor were not evidence of it – no matter what Alex and Eric told Nicholas about it.

She'd remind them that it wasn't polite to come armed with Super Soakers, either, no matter how intent they were on defending the picnic's guests from it – the creek monster - since it wasn't like they weren't in more danger from Eric's "big bang" – whatever it was – and Alex's greasy barbecue hamburgers, when you got right down to it.

She enjoyed it thoroughly, anyway, and she smirked at it again, Alex and Amber squabbling over whether it was safe for Nicholas to camp outside near the creek with Alex and Eric that night, and Cristina and Burke debating it, since they were in town for a conference and had decided to stop by for it – whether a Peads surgeon should have any say in it, being the Stork's lackey and all, or whether they might need to bring in a brain surgeon or two to consult on it.

She didn't think about it, either, about how Amber and Cari and Jenny were hitting it off, about how Beth and Abbey were still chattering about it, their last photo shoot for the season before Abbey went back to the school, and she didn't think about it, that it was already late July before she'd realized it.

She didn't have time to think about it after that, either, since Katie was home for a week raving about it – Australia and sharks and surfing and beach volleyball and beach concerts – before she returned to UC Riverside – and Abbey was gone three days later, back to UC Irvine and Eric was already a high school sophomore and polishing his skis and just couldn't wait for it – the first snow of the season.

She just couldn't fathom it, though, how September was rolling along and she was still struggling with it, setting the schedule for the new interns and assigning them to their trauma rotations and getting them to see it – that it wasn't the million dollar CT scanners or the laser scalpels that usually did it – saved the day in trauma – that it was the little things like checking for clear airways that saved lives, she reminded herself ruefully – when you got right down to it.

She reminded them of it often, and she didn't want to hear it – that trauma was just triage, until the real surgeons got in on it. She didn't want to hear that her drills were a waste of time, either – and she didn't even listen to it, when she reassigned one young woman – a future Cardio rock star, to hear the girl tell it – to the Pit until she got it, that it was all hands on decks in a medical emergency, and she smirked when she remembered it, the day she finally got it herself, that she'd have to be tough about it – much tougher than was usually natural to her – if she was ever going to get them to see it.

* * *

><p>It erupted into their lives like one of Eric's volcanoes, the phone call from Katie that came on a chilly November evening.<p>

"She can't be serious about it," April sputtered, clanging her spoon in her tea cup as her hands shook.

Not that it could've freaking surprised her, since it was typical Katie no matter what April said about it.

"It's what she said," Alex reminded her tersely, and really, that was all you could say about it.

It was absurd, really, but Katie was seriously considering it – dropping out of school to take it – a job with the Miami Marine Life Institute, clear across the country in freaking Florida.

"It's warm there, though," April said quietly. "She loves the beach."

"It already has hurricanes," Alex grumbled, since, really, it was why they'd come to calling her Hurricane Katie in the first place, because she was this swirling, unpredictable force of nature. She could be just as destructive, too, especially to herself, he muttered under his breath.

It wasn't like she'd think it out, not if it was dangling in front of her, not if it was "what she always wanted to do," until it became the previous week's lifelong dream, and a new one blew in from off shore to replace it.

"She's always wanted to work someplace like it," April noted reluctantly, frowning as she sat at the counter almost eyeing it, the pictures from Katie's Australian Adventure – including Katie's favorite, the one with her on the boat hovering a few feet from a 14 foot Great White Shark, freaking feeding it.

"It has alligators," he grumbled, scowling as he sat at the kitchen counter across from her.

Not that it would matter, since it wasn't like she gave it a second thought, swimming with seals or scuba diving with sting rays.

"Remember Atlantis 2.0?" April asked wistfully.

"That was different," he muttered impatiently.

It was – he was sure of it, even if he couldn't quite specify how – and he just didn't want to hear about it, about how buying a kid a freaking fish tank or two when she was ten could lead to her trying to save the killer man eating sharks or rescue orphaned dolphins or preserve the tottering turtles or the alligator he was imagining swallowing her whole one day, as she bent over to check on it.

"She loved it," April reminded him, rolling her eyes.

"It sounded like a giant coffee pot," he protested, shaking his head.

It had, too, since it was fish tanks bubbling all over the room before she was done with it, and it was books and magazines full of it, and it was all he could do to keep it straight when she'd chatter at him about it – about how cichlids liked it brackish and angel fish liked it warm and tetras liked it spacious and cat fish didn't care about any of it as long as they got plenty of food – and that they didn't find it funny at all, the cat fish, to be named after cats – no matter what he and Abbey and Mrs. DuBois said when they snarked about it.

"She learned a lot from it," April reminded him, stirring her tea again.

It wasn't even the point, though, since it wasn't like she was going to work in one of those aquarium shops he'd always taken her to, and it wasn't like it kept her from flunking out of Mayfield, and it wasn't like it was keeping her from throwing it all away again – another shot at the education that would set her up for her whole freaking life – if she'd just think it through and plan it out and take advantage of it.

"She needs to graduate," he insisted, and he was sure of it.

It was just how it was, that kids who went to college did better. It wasn't like he made the freaking rules, and it wasn't like he'd even ever liked college. It was just that it was what you did for your kids, if you were doing it right, you gave then the chances you never had to do it – whatever they freaking wanted – and to succeed at it, and it was what all the doctors at the hospital did when they yammered on about it – about their kids graduating from Berkeley or Stamford or Yale or freaking Harvard – and they even had the bumper stickers to prove it.

"She could transfer," April pointed out, sighing quietly. "The institute did offer to pay for it."

"It's not their job," he sputtered, and it wasn't.

Sure, they could foot it – the bill for her last two years of college. But it wasn't like he and April couldn't afford it, and it wasn't like they wouldn't pay for it, and it wasn't like she just had to go off and get it all paid for on her own, and it wasn't like it didn't suck – to be stuck scrambling for it, and it wasn't like she wasn't their kid and their responsibility, no matter what the fucking forms still stashed under the wicker basket said about it.

"She shouldn't have to do that," he stammered, his face reddening.

He hated it, the churning in his stomach and the trembling of his hands and the racing of his heart and the way his breath caught in his throat whenever April looked at him like that, as if he was going to be the one to do it – to drive Katie away – as if that wasn't his fucking point all along, that she shouldn't be going at all.

"She doesn't have to do it," April corrected, shaking her head. "She wants to. It might be good for her," she added, shrugging seriously.

"You really think she's going to finish school if she goes down there?" Alex snorted.

He could already see it, too. She'd be at it a month, two, tops before she'd be off again – to hair styling school in Hawaii or actuary school in Alaska or phlebotomy lessons in the Philippines – and it would all just wash away, her education, her dreams, her future, and she'd have thrown it all away in a heartbeat.

"She never was very motivated for it," April reminded him, almost grimacing, as if she didn't even want to admit it. "Maybe this will give her the push she needs to take it seriously."

"Right," Alex snickered. He could already picture it, too. She'd meet some loser, she'd get pregnant, and she end up living in a leaky trailer and raising the kid in some alligator infested swamp.

"It's not like we can say anything about it," April insisted, eying him sternly, as if daring him.

Of course, they couldn't, he reminded himself sarcastically, because they'd just hear it all over again, about how they weren't really her parents, about how she didn't really need it – any help from them –about how she'd already looked into it, tracking down her biological parents – about how she was going to do it, meet with them and tell them all about it, about how she'd always wished for them, about how much better it would've been – her whole freaking life – if they'd just been the ones who raised her.

"She might surprise us," April added wryly.

He almost smirked back at her about it – since it was Hurricane Katie's specialty, and they'd never be ready for it – for whatever she'd throw at them next.

It wasn't like he hadn't warned April about it years and years ago, either – that she had no idea what she was getting them into when she signed them up for it – not that there was anything they could do about it, since it wasn't like they could undo it, no matter what the fucking forms said about it.

He didn't want to hear it, either, the following week, when they drove to Eric's first ski race of the year, that it was risky or dangerous or that Eric was one lift ticket away from traction, because it wasn't like what Katie was doing anything safer, no matter what she called it.

It wasn't like Katie was doing anything different, risking her whole fucking future, and it wasn't like he was supposed to say anything about it – about how she was being irrational and impossible and infuriating – and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't have anything to show for it – he reminded April tersely – cheering and clapping and nodding approvingly when Eric won it, his first medal of the season, and it didn't even matter that it was silver, he reminded himself, as he planned out the new trophy case he'd have to build for it.

He didn't want to hear it, either, about how he was spoiling Eric on his birthday, because Eric was still on track for Cal Tech, and Eric was already preparing for his college entrance exams, and Eric was already on the Honor Roll, and it wasn't like he was blowing thirty grand on it – Eric's very expensive new computer – since it wasn't like Eric would throw it away, anyway, the money they were spending on skiing and lab fees and even that slick new snow board, since Eric was all about it – speed – and Eric had it all thought out, his future as an engineer, and Eric wouldn't suddenly throw it away to run off and become a ski bum or a computer tech… or freaking shark food, when you got right down to it.

He didn't want to hear it at Thanksgiving, either, and it pissed him off even more that Katie didn't even come home for it, since it wasn't like she didn't know it – how important it was to April. It wasn't like they could do it together very often anymore, either, if she'd be in fucking Florida for it – eating alligator tacos for all he knew about how they celebrated it there – as if it wasn't all about traditions and home and families, at least to hear April and her sisters tell it.

He didn't want to hear it the week before Christmas, either, as they prepared for it – the imminent landing of Hurricane Katie – not that he had time to think about it, since it was a horrific plane crash that was filling the hospital that week.

It was all hands on deck as he operated on it – a perforated bowel, a ruptured spleen, a fractured leg – since it wasn't like they could wait for it, specialists to arrive from far flung hospitals during a blizzard – and it wasn't like he wanted to imagine it, anyone in his family flying ever, never mind all the way to fucking Florida, as if it wasn't just asking for trouble, the whole flying thing, when you got right down to it.

He didn't want to think about it, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he got it, the message from Abbey that she was home and safe, that Katie was up in her room, that Eric was dragging out their sleds for a race down the back mountain – and that a large pizza and gas money was riding on it – and that Amber had stopped by to check on how they were doing since he and April would be stuck at the hospital.

He just dropped his phone back in his lab coat pocket and rubbed his hands over his eyes as he tried to catch it, his breath, since the wave of victims from the second plane would be rolling in any time. Not that he understood it, exactly – how two planes going full speed could collide while still on the ground – but that just went to show it, that flying was nothing but trouble, when you got right down to it.

He finished his final surgery more hours later than he could keep track of, and he wasn't even sure if it was day or night when he finally tracked April down in it, an on call room on the fourth floor, and he just listened for it, her quiet sigh as she settled into him went he crawled into the bunk beside her.

He wasn't even sure if he could still feel it, any of his limbs, as it all finally stilled around him, and he was fairly sure she was asleep again already until he felt it, her burrowing closer into him as he tugged the blanket around them, and he smirked tiredly as he teasingly said it, "wanna do it?" since it wasn't like either of them had an ounce of energy left for it, even if it would give her one up on Beth for a change – doing it after a plane crash – at least, to hear some of the wild stories Beth told about it.

"I'm not that kind of a girl," she reminded him, giggling and yawning and rolling her eyes as she pulled him closer.

He got it, too, that it was still racing, her heart, since she was the go to chick in trauma, and that it just wouldn't turn off, the adrenaline rush, no matter how much they fought it, and it would just have to settle down on its own.

"It's almost Christmas," she reminded him quietly.

He got it, too, that she'd be thinking about it, the undecorated tree in the family room and the stockings not yet hung along the fire place and the jumbo candy canes hanging upside down from the rafters and it was the only thing stopping her from screaming or sobbing or pulling her hair out, thinking about it, even if it was hard to block it out, how many horrible Christmases were stock piled in the morgue.

"The kids decorated it," he replied quietly, brushing his lips across her hair and smirking again as he thought of it.

It was going to be a surprise, to hear Abbey tell it, but it wasn't like she'd mind him spilling it, not if it would make April feel better. It wasn't like the kids' gifts weren't already piled under it, anyway, and it wasn't like he wanted to imagine it, how awkward it would be with Katie getting ready for it, her big move to Florida, and it wasn't like he wanted April thinking about it – that it might be their last Christmas together, when you got right down to it.

"Did they re-hang the candy canes?" she teased.

He just rolled his eyes at it, since it was absurd really, to even be talking about it, when the hospital was stacked to over flowing with it, basically carnage, and it wasn't like it even mattered, and he'd actually stopped believing in it years before, anyway, that there was a right way up to hanging them, no matter what she said about it.

"They like it the way it is," he grumbled, picturing the wide wood plank porch again, wrapped floor to rafter with lights – courtesy of Eric and his friends – like the scene in that little snow globe that Eric had picked out as a Christmas gift for April when he was five.

"They like the radioactive seaweed carpet in the family room, too," she retorted, as if that sealed it, that their taste wasn't to be trusted, either, no matter what they said about it.

"So do you," he retorted, smirking at her as if daring her to deny it.

"I wanted it to be perfect," she sighed, sliding her arms more closely around him.

"They'll love it," he scoffed.

He could just imagine it, their faces when they saw it, the killer drafting set Eric had been lobbying for, the electronic sewing machine Abbey was drooling over, the dinosaur robot kit that Nicholas had written to Santa for – though Alex still suspected it, that Nicholas was as much a skeptic as Eric had been, when you got right down to it – even the shark tooth necklace for Katie, which Beth had picked up for them in Hawaii - where sharks were sacred and worshiped for protection – to hear her tell it.

"You really do spoil them, you know," she muttered, burrowing sleepily into his chest.

"I didn't get yours yet," he confessed reluctantly.

He'd meant to, he had, but he'd been sort of stumped about it, and it wasn't his fault that Abbey was away at school and Beth had been in Southeast Asia and Mrs. DuBois had been no help at all and Mere had just teased him about it – as if it was any different at her house, where Christmas was a freaking Winter Wonderland – and it wasn't like he wouldn't hear about it if she didn't like it – as if it hadn't been a freaking clever idea, the singing giraffe cookie jar, no matter what she said about it.

"That's okay," she smirked, a mischievous, drowsy smile dancing across her lips. "I know what I want."

"Really?" he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "I thought you didn't want to do it?"

"Not that," she insisted, grimacing and pushing at him playfully as she yawned again. "I have something else in mind," she added sleepily, resting her head on his chest.

"Does it involve cool whip?" he mumbled, yawning himself as her fingers settled into their familiar spot along his spine.

"It might," she giggled tiredly, curling more closely around him as she drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>It would be the best Christmas gift she could ever imagine, she promised him, and she didn't care if they'd had to wait until January to do it.<p>

She didn't care that she'd have to convince Alex that they could just up and go for it, either, since Abbey would've returned to school and Katie could chauffer Eric - since she wouldn't be leaving for it until February, her new job in Florida.

She didn't care that she'd hear about it clear around the world, either – how much he hated traveling, how hot it would be on a tropical island, how much sand would get in his shoes, how freaking weird the food might be – she wanted to go.

It took some doing, too, rearranging their schedules, and getting time off together, and it took a quick trip to Bailey's office, and a little nagging from the kids, and an outright bribe to get him on the plane.

It took two Snickers bars to keep him on it, too, as the announcements came about what to do in case of an in-flight emergency – though he was "not afraid to freaking fly," he scoffed.

"Not at all," he insisted, as he gripped the seat partition between them – and it was all worth it, she noted the moment they'd landed at it, the airport in Bali, since it was the most beautiful place she'd even seen.

It was spectacular, too, the long winding path up to their hotel, and it was impossibly lush, the well landscaped interior courtyard, like an indoor rain forest.

It was luxurious beyond anything she'd even imagined, their room with the expertly carved teak furniture and the elaborate white linens, and it was jaw dropping, the 270 degree window expanse that opened onto their deck, with their own private infinity pool stretching out across the ocean, and it boggled her mind all over again, that Beth got paid to stay in places like this, and to photograph scenes like the one opening before her.

It was dazzling, all of it, and nothing like she could ever have fathomed in Ohio, or Seattle, the only two places she'd ever spent much time in, really. She could hear it all around them, the rush of ocean waves and the chattering of tropical birds and the waving palm leaves, and it was like she'd walked straight into one of those magazine photos she'd stared at while she was waiting for her teeth cleaning at her dentist's office, photos of someplace she could dream about, but never actually go.

The sun was already setting, she noticed, and she wanted to get back downstairs, to take a walk along the beach, and maybe have dinner – something light, she reminded herself with a smirk, since Alex was still vaguely green from the plane ride, and prone to pouting and tantrums after a long trip, or when a strange menu was placed into his hands.

She popped her suitcase open quickly, scanning for the light sweater she'd brought for evenings along the water, and she just rolled her eyes at the flash of purple fabric in the corner, since he'd obviously slipped it back in there when she wasn't looking, despite her crystal clear instructions not to.

Not that it wasn't beautiful, but it wasn't like she was wearing it, and she was half sure it was a joke on Beth's part, since he swore that she helped him pick it out "just for the freaking trip," and that she'd been "sure she'd love it."

She just shook her head as she grabbed her lacy new sweater, running her finger delicately over the old fashioned pearl buttons that Abbey had loved, and wondering when it had come to that, Alex listening to one of her sisters about anything – much less bathing suits.

They had a nice dinner, anyway, though she briefly considered pretending not to know him when he scanned the menu for sea monster and snake head – before ordering his usual steak and potatoes, as if they didn't have a raft of exotic choices to select from.

She didn't want to hear it, either, his snickering as she managed only two bites of her baked prawn, before sheepishly splitting the rest of his meal with him – and it was all she could hear an hour later, the low rumble of the ocean along the shore as they strolled the hotel's private beach, and it was all she could feel, really, the pristine white sand beneath her feet, the light breeze in her hair, the familiar warmth of his fingers knotted through hers.

It was beautiful the next morning as well, and she just crossed her eyes as he nagged her about it, and she finally agreed to try it on just to shut him up. It was definitely the type of swimsuit she'd see in one of those fashion magazines Beth photographed her models for – the kind Abbey favored, too, she noted wistfully, despite Abbey's love for old pearl buttons, and Mrs. DuBois' own more conservative style – and it would have been fine for Beth, who was tall and willowy, or for Dani, whose boobs always stood at firm attention – even, April imagined, when she was asleep – but certainly not for her.

It looked ridiculous on her, she noted, scowling, since it was entirely too high on her doughy thighs, and had diamond cut outs to feature her fleshy hips, and a precarious tie halter top which wouldn't keep Jenny's flat chest in place, much less hers. It was just the color to attract the attention that Dani always craved – despite her insistence otherwise, and that Jenny desperately wanted, despite her insistence that all men were basically pigs, and that Beth might have gotten – if Dani hadn't been so busty – and that Cari rolled her eyes at, since all she wanted was to land an Attending.

It looked absurd, she pointed out to him repeatedly, as he grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door, and she'd go to the private beach wearing it for an hour, she grumbled, but certainly not to the more densely crowded hotel pool.

She'd cover it up with her long, flowing sun dress, too, and she'd hide out under her wide brimmed straw hat. She had it all planned out until it started, the turned head from the male life guard as she walked passed, the long glance from a guy walking along the shore with a fishing pole, the eyes she could feel on her as she set up her beach chair and settled in to watch the waves.

It continued for nearly two hours, even when she finally went down to the water – shrieking and laughing and giggling as Alex splashed her, and hauled her in to the water with him – and it set shivers running through her, as his hands skimmed her hips, and it crackled through her body, as his lips met hers, and it all washed away – the chaos at work and the struggles with Katie – as he tugged her toward a secluded lagoon, dripping and smirking – and it wasn't her at all, the purple swimsuit or the way her hat fluttered away in the rushing water of an overhead waterfall – and it all melted away, anyway, into a sea of familiar warm hazel, as his lips met hers again.

It turned out to be more practical then she'd imagined, the flimsy swim suit with its wide cuts out, and less complicated then she might have expected – balancing under a rush of water – and she would have done it right there, she imagined, if they hadn't been in plain view of a crowd of late lunch patrons at one of the hotel's outdoor restaurants, and it just made her giggle, despite it all, his insistence that they were "all just jealous," as she felt their eyes on her again.

It was nothing like what she'd expected, their first full day at the resort, and it was nothing like she'd expected, how she felt in that suit, and she couldn't quite take her eyes off it as they returned to their room later that afternoon and it set shivers running through her all over again when he came up behind her as she stared curiously at the mirror, snaking his arms around her as his skin brushed hers.

"Told you you'd like it," he smirked, nuzzling her hair as he pulled her closer.

"Who said I like it?" she retorted, sighing as his hands wandered up her body.

"Still think it's too skimpy?" he teased, his fingers toying with the thin fabric lining the diamond shaped cut outs.

"Yes," she said, playfully swatting his hands away.

"Too flimsy?" he taunted, echoing her words from that morning as his teeth tugged at the halter top's ties at her neck.

"Yes," she nodded smugly. "I was right. You were wrong."

"Too revealing?" he crooned, smirking again as the top slipped away.

"Yes," she gasped, inhaling sharply as she spilled into his hands, his lips wandering down to meet her.

"What else did you call it?" he muttered, kissing down her body as he peeled the fabric from her hips.

"Indecent," she insisted, inhaling sharply again, which it was, since, honestly, no one in Ohio would ever wear one.

"Wouldn't that make you a – ?" he prodded, as he lowered her onto their bed.

"Pervert?" she filled in, giggling and rolling her eyes as she tugged him closer to her, since they'd had this discussion before, too, about him, as she recalled.

"MumHum," he muttered, struggling not to groan as her own fingers went to work.

She would've corrected him right then and there, but it was already too late, and it was already throbbing in her grasp, and his eyes were already rolling back in his head, and he was already shuddering beneath her, and it was already rippling right through her.

It was all his fault, anyway, since he'd already hung up his own swim suit in the shower to dry, and it all faded into another familiar hazel haze, and it was at least another hour before she gathered up enough of her senses to notice that it was sinking slowly into the horizon, the golden orange sun beams that streamed into their room, dancing across the infinity pool in a dazzling amber display.

It would make the kind of photo only Beth could capture, usually, and it might be her only chance to get one, too, and she just smirked and rolled her eyes again, since Alex was still all wrapped around her sleeping peacefully. He would be for at least another hour, she was sure – since she'd timed it more than once – and it wasn't like she'd ever have the heart to move and wake him, even if he was snoring into her chest, and had just told her he'd "told her so" – again.

But at least her camera sat on her nightstand within her reach. It was nothing like Beth's cameras, she reminded herself, as she carefully snapped it on, or even like Abbey's. She wanted it anyway – the perfect picture of their exotic vacation in Bali – and at least it didn't take much fiddling, and it would certainly do.

She set it to wide angle, and it settled into view, the sparkling infinity pool and the expansive ocean and the fiery horizon, dotted with sail boats bobbing serenely in the distance, and she snapped one and then another and another, and giggled again moments later as she reviewed the last two she'd taken, which followed the long line of Alex's bare body as it stretched lazily toward the vast window. It looked vaguely familiar, the photo, like her honeymoon, almost, she thought with a smirk, except that then it had been a bruised purple, and not a shimmering golden tan, and she wondered again if it made her a pornographer, too – even if it was inadvertent, and even if it was her husband's.

She set the camera back down on her nightstand, rolling her eyes again as she imagined sending that particular image to Beth or to Cari – when they teasingly asked her for pictures from her exotic vacation.

She could add one of herself in the purple swimsuit, too, she thought wryly, and she could just hear the reviews rolling in, from Jenny, that she needed to cut out all carbs immediately, or from Cari, that purple wasn't her color; from Dani, that they should've hit the nudist beach on the other side of the island, to slap some more color on Alex's pale ass, or from Beth, that she could've added that color to it herself, if she'd just adjusted the aperture on her camera lens.

She could hear it all, and she just leaned back into her pillow with a smirk, brushing her fingers lightly through Alex's hair. She could hear it all over again, too, what he'd said right before he'd tugged her under that waterfall – that she was hot – and she was, she gathered, judging from all the looks she'd gotten, and she wondered when all of it had happened, when she'd become the go to chick in trauma, and mom, and a hot babe that guys actually noticed, and a woman who was perfectly comfortable lying quietly in an over-sized luxury bed, waiting patiently, while her husband snored softly into her chest.

It was probably sometime before she became a pervert and a pornographer, she thought wryly.

She could still hear it from him, too, though – his insistence, time and again, that her sisters were "just jealous" of her, and she imagined that maybe that was true, since she was the one in Bali at the moment, and she was the one who had it all, even if that it included a demanding job and an impossible daughter and a skimpy purple swimsuit and a pale assed Peds surgeon who snored into her saggy boobs.

She smirked at the thought, surveying his body more closely as he settled sleepily into her. It wasn't like any of her sisters should talk about it, she thought, as she traced her fingers gently over him again, since Dani was married to a serial cheater, and Beth was married to her work, and Cari was lusting after a married Attending – which ran in the family, apparently – and Jenny was still holding out for the Perfect Man, which really made no sense given her attitude toward romance novels.

It wasn't like they should talk, anyway, she reminded herself, since she was actually pretty happy, despite it all, or maybe because of it all – she couldn't quite tell. He looked pretty happy, too, she thought with a giggle, still stroking him gently as he curled lazily into her fingers, and she'd always liked his ass just fine, even when he'd broken it on their honeymoon, and it didn't bother her at all, the way the pancakes clung to his ribs, since really, it wasn't like he was a paid porn star for hire, anyway.

Not that he couldn't be, she thought with a smirk, trailing her fingers teasingly across his groin, as a sleepy smile spread across his face and a soft sigh escaped him. But he wasn't, and it wasn't like she'd show those photos to anyone, anyway – not even to her sisters, to make them jealous.

It wasn't like she had anything to prove to them, really, and it wasn't like she'd want that anyway – for the pretty young nurses on the SGMWH grapevine to get a look at them – and it wasn't like it was anyone's business but hers anyway, how tan his ass looked from that particular angle.

She'd keep the pictures anyway, though, she vowed, nodding firmly, because he did look completely happy in them, even if they hadn't all quite captured the blissful smile on his face, and it hadn't been a nightmare after all – the flight or the food or the sand in his shoes – and it would be perfect ammunition against his protests, the next time she wanted to go on a trip like this, and they would prove that he'd had a great time after all, and they'd prove that she'd been right and he'd been wrong, and it would let her utter decisively the three little words that had long cemented their marriage – "told you so."

* * *

><p>"It's huge," Amber said, scanning it skeptically as Alex spread the brochures across the coffee table.<p>

"It's a secret," Alex reminded them, raising his eyebrows at Nicholas and nodding seriously before the boy raced back over to work on the Medieval Lego castle across the room.

"It's going to be awesome," Alex added, nodding determinedly.

It was, too, since he'd already talked to Beth about it, and it was going to be April's best Valentine's Day gift ever, even if it wouldn't be ready until June. It wasn't even like that mattered, technically, since it wasn't like she'd get to use it much before then with the weather in Seattle, anyway.

"Did she say she wanted it?" Amber asked hesitantly.

"She didn't have to," Alex insisted, shoving the papers hastily into a folder and stashing it back under the couch seat cushions.

Of course she'd want it, because it was just like the gazebo in her parents' yard, and she always went back to sit in it when she visited Ohio. It would have little planters for her weeds, too, and a bench where she could have her tea. It would have slots for the squirrel and bird feeders, too, so she could use it – that fancy camera the kids had given her for Christmas – to get pictures of the little moochers. It would even have cushioned seating, so Sadie and Tobey and Churchill and Pancakes would love it, too.

"I know it," he insisted, nodding again as he pointed to his skull, before he eagerly grabbed his own Lego pieces again, as Nicholas called to him from across the room, something about a big attack and how quickly dinosaurs might eat the little villagers populating the Lego castle across the room.

"I'm a knight in shining armor," he noted smugly, holding up the Lego man he'd just snatched from the coffee table.

"You're a knight in shining plastic," Amber teased, pointing to the little yellow haired toy figure seated on a bright blue horse. "And a tee shirt," she giggled, pointing to the Miami Hurricanes shirt that Katie had sent him from Florida, the one with the ferocious eye of the storm splashed across it, and a huge Great White shark swimming right through it.

"I have a castle to defend," he huffed, motioning over to where Nicholas' motorized dinosaur was already storming the draw bridge.

"You sure you and April don't mind it?" she asked again. "I know it's a lot, keeping him for the whole weekend, especially around Valentine's Day."

"No, it's cool," Alex said, shaking his head.

"Andrew seems nice," he added reluctantly, shrugging.

He was, sort of, Alex admitted, since it wasn't like he was one of those freaky guys in Beth's modeling stable, he was just the guy who kept Beth's accounting books. And sure, he went to the parties. But it wasn't like he was into it, being photographed by young girls who shouldn't be looking at it at all.

It wasn't like Beth hadn't done a criminal background check on him before she'd hired him, either, even if Amber should still be careful about it, bringing Andrew around Nicholas and all.

"It is our first Valentine's Day together," she shrugged. "He wanted to make it special."

"He should've tried the Museum of Medical Oddities," Alex said seriously, wide eyed. "April loves it."

It really was the perfect place for it, he thought, since it had it all under one roof – the killer gift shop, the awesome cafeteria, the lighted interactive displays, and the whole freaking history of surgery.

They even had convenient covered parking which was great when you drove a convertible in Seattle in rainy February. Plus the kids loved it, and it wasn't like you could ask for more than that, especially since you could even take part of it home with you, he reminded himself eagerly, eying it on a nearby shelf, the living human circulatory kit – complete with three bulging tumors - that he and Nicholas had put together the month before, after the last time they'd visited it.

"Nicholas loves it, too," Amber smirked, rolling her eyes.

"That's where he got you the cookie jar for last Mother's day," Alex reminded her, frowning seriously, since she could roll her eyes at it all she wanted. But it wasn't just anywhere that you could find a lighted lung cookie jar that made actual breathing sounds when you opened it.

"Yes," Amber agreed, rolling her eyes and smirking again. "But it's not the most romantic place in the world," she added, eying him closely.

"April loves it," he repeated defensively, scowling and clutching his knight figurine more tightly.

She did, too, even if she teased him about it, since it wasn't like she didn't devour it – the triple ripple fudge cake they served in the cafeteria, with the human skeleton traced out on it in white icing.

It wasn't like she didn't excitedly describe it to Nicholas whenever he asked about it, either, if she'd seen anything like it at work – the shattered torso in the lobby, that looked like it had been run over by a steam roller. It wasn't like she didn't use it, too, her pulsing heart key chain – and it wasn't like that wasn't a pretty standard representation of the stupid fake holiday even if it wasn't on one of those frilly little pink paper cards which were just wood pulp and glitter, anyway, when you got right down to it.

"Maybe you should just try a nice dinner and flowers this year?" Amber prodded.

"She has tons of flowers," Alex scoffed, motioning toward the yard. "They just haven't come up yet."

"And dinner?" Amber teased, almost giggling again.

"Boring," he shrugged, almost pouting. "It's a fake holiday anyway, you know," he grumbled.

And it was, he reminded himself, since it was just made up by the women who ran the greeting card industry. It had to be women, he was sure of it – and it was just a way to get guys to fork over for it – dead weeds or pricey recycled paper products or those annoying little chocolates that you couldn't even tell were good until you bit into them.

And then you'd hear it, anyway, about how you couldn't put it back in the box even if you didn't like it, as if it made sense to waste the whole thing just because it didn't say it up front, that it had freaking nougat in it, as if that was even an actual flavor – and it was just hard to respect it, really, a whole holiday that tried to smuggle it into otherwise perfectly good candies, freaking nougat.

"Well, I'm planning on enjoying it," she insisted, rising from the couch.

"With your charming prince?" Alex smirked.

"It's just a weekend," she snapped, and she didn't want to hear it, about how it was too soon, about how it wasn't going to work out, about how it was going to be another relationship disaster, about how it was going to leave Nicholas scarred for life, about how it was all her fault that Nicholas didn't even have a crappy father, as if she'd planned to screw it all up.

"What's your problem?" Alex scowled.

He didn't get it, because it was just a freaking joke, and she'd already been going out with Andrew for a year, and it wasn't like he'd ever said anything about it – that maybe Nicholas and her could do better than a nerdy accountant who April and Beth swore was handsome and charming and rich and basically perfect – as if Andrew even had any experience with it, defending Lego castle from motorized dinosaurs.

"What would you know about charming princes?" she snorted.

"You're the one-" he started.

"I'm not the one-" she retorted, cutting him off.

"I didn't-" he sputtered.

"I don't want to hear it, alright?" she insisted, exhaling heavily. "You have the great marriage and the great kids and I screwed it all up," she stammered, running her hands over her face and sinking back deeper into the couch.

"I never said that," he snapped, staring back at his shoes.

"You didn't have to," she retorted, her eyes growing tired and defeated. "Look at this place," she sighed, her view wandering around the huge family room. "And I move here a single mother-"

"You're a great mom," Alex protested. "Look at him," he noted, pointing over to where Nicholas was gleefully destroying a battalion of knights and running over the poor Lego villagers with his dinosaurs.

"He doesn't even have a dad," she reminded Alex glumly. "I swore I'd never do that to a kid, and –"

"He's better off than we were," Alex reminded her. "At least he doesn't have to-"

"Fight him off?" Amber filled in wryly, running her fingers through her hair again.

"It wasn't-" Alex stammered, his face reddening.

It wasn't, no matter what she said. It wasn't like he'd had a fucking choice, and it wasn't like he was apologizing for it no matter what she thought of it.

"I know," she insisted, nodding as her voice shook almost breathlessly. "I've had a long time to think about it," she reminded him, exhaling heavily as she shook her head, frowning seriously. "Mom just couldn't do anything about it," she sighed.

"I know you did your best," she whispered. "It just-"

"Wasn't enough," Alex grumbled, staring at his shoes awkwardly again.

"It wasn't your fault," Amber insisted, sinking further into the couch beside him and picking nervously at her fingers, as another awkward silence loomed between them. "It was all just so screwed up."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, nodding seriously, his voice catching in his throat again.

"I didn't want it to be like that for Nicholas," she added, glancing back over at him with a hesitant smile teasing her lips.

"It's not," Alex reminded her fiercely.

And it wasn't, because she could think what she wanted to about her brother. But it wasn't like Nicholas didn't have April, and it wasn't he didn't have her sisters, and it wasn't like he didn't have Abbey and Eric and even Katie – even if she was a tropical storm – and it wasn't like he'd have to fend off some abusive jerk that Amber brought home, not as long as he was around to do something about it.

"He needs more than just me," she admitted, glancing down at her own shoes. "He loves April," Amber added, "and her sisters. He loves your family. He loves you, "she added softly.

"We're not going anywhere," Alex reminded her, his face reddening as he squirmed slightly.

"I know," she smirked. "I just- however it works out with Andrew, I'm glad Nicholas has you, all of you," she added, smirking again as she watched him playing.

"A lot of this is April," he reminded her, motioning around the impossibly comfortable family room.

"Not the carpet," Amber teased, giggling again. "She swears it was all your fault."

"She loves it," Alex corrected smugly, "no matter what she says."

"You were lucky to find her, huh?" Amber asked quietly.

"Oh, yeah," Alex agreed, nodding seriously.

And he was, he reminded himself, since it wasn't like just any chick would get it – how great the Museum of Medical Oddities was – and it wasn't like just any chick could do it – raise three awesome kids, even if Katie didn't make it easy at all – and it wasn't like just any chick could do it – be the great mom and the rock star go to chick in trauma and the hub of her crazy sisters – and it wasn't like just any chick could do it all and still look so hot in it – the Wonder Woman costume that she still totally rocked, no matter what she said about it.

"Too bad you don't have a romantic bone in your body," she teased, giggling again.

"I do, too," he snorted, motioning to the hammer and nails and wood glue on the coffee table.

And it was – the whole gazebo thing – even if it wasn't a silly little gold pin or a clump of dead weeds or an over-priced meal served at a place with too few parking spots and a too restrictive dress code.

"The Museum of Medical Oddities for Valentine's Day," Amber pointed out, standing and shrugging her coat on as she moved toward the steps to go back upstairs to the kitchen. "Seriously?"

"She loves it," Alex retorted smugly, motioning her up the stairs and off to her weekend with Andrew as he went off to defend the medieval villagers from Nicholas' marauding dinosaurs.


	24. Chapter 24

It had started in February, and she just smirked and giggled at it – the workers pouring the foundation for the gazebo, because he insisted on it, even if it wasn't really the weather for it.

Not that it would interfere with their romantic holiday tradition, she reminded herself, smirking again as she watched Alex and Nicholas race out to the car and charge to the gory entrance of it, the Museum of Medical Oddities, where she'd celebrate it with him again that year – Valentine's Day – and she could already imagine it, as she gathered her bags, what her sisters would say about it.

Not that any of them should even talk, she reminded herself, following them as she fantasized about it – the triple fudge ripple cake at the Museum cafeteria, which was always covered with it, extra icing, especially around the thoracic cavity.

They shouldn't, since Cari was still waiting for a chance to land a senior Attending, and Jenny was still waiting for her Prince, and Dani was still waiting for Neil to stop doing it with random secretaries on the Staten Island Ferry, and Beth was still doing it with stray photographers in Burma or Bora Bora or Bermuda – not that she wasn't enjoying it.

It continued all through March, and she just shook her head at it as the hulking frame took shape. It looked a lot like that shabby old monstrosity in her parents' yard. It almost made her laugh, since it was where she'd first wished for a pet giraffe back when she was seven – and she'd gotten a whole herd of them, she reminded himself, and she'd heard it before – the cliché about being careful what you wished for – and she could just imagine it, how much it would remind her of when she was a kid, back when she believed in magic and shooting stars and fairy tales and all of it.

It continued into April, too, as he took over some of the building of it – the lattice and the porch seats and the trellis. She decided it was a mid-life crisis that was prompting it – since Katie was in Florida and Abbey was in California and Eric was already talking about it – balancing skiing and course work at Cal Tech even if it was over a year away. That was the only way to explain it, though, why Alex was spending thousands of dollars and all his spare time on it, building special feeders for all the little animals who were just "freaking moochers" anyway, at least, to hear him tell it.

It continued into May, too, and it grew more elaborate – with planters for her beloved flowers, which were just "expensive weeds," and she decided it might be a competitive thing, too – like the elaborate sand castle he and Abbey and Katie had built their on first full summer beach vacation together, even after she'd warned them that it would wash away before the judges arrived, if they made it so close to the water.

Not that it would've won anyway, she reminded herself with a smirk, since they wouldn't listen to her about it at all, that it needed at least two more floors if it was going to take it, the gleaming trophy, from that family of six that had won it seven years in a row, at least to hear them bragging about it.

It had to be done by Mother's Day, though – at least, that's what she heard him mutter to Churchill and Pancakes about it, as they toddled out into the yard after him on a bright spring Saturday morning. She just giggled as she watched it through the window – him getting the dogs to test it, the level of the wide padded seats lining it – since she still heard about it sometimes, about how it was her freaking zoo, even when he got so defensive about it, any hint that pancakes could stand it, to lose a few pounds, or that Churchill might want to cut down on it, his chocolate frozen yogurt, or that Tobey and Gracie had never really gotten the hang of it – the whole obedience training thing. Not that he'd listen, either, since the "whole rebel attitude" thing was just part of "being a Corgi," at least, to hear him tell it.

It continued the following day, too, and she eyed it shaking her head, because he was wearing it again – his Miami Hurricanes tee shirt. He'd insisted he wouldn't, back when she'd sent it – since it wasn't like Katie would ever actually graduate from the University of Miami, as far as he saw it.

But it had come just that Friday, a message with her grades from it, her first semester in their Marine Ecosystems Preservation program, and it was all B's except for one A, and she'd be doing it that summer, too, taking classes for it, and she could finish it in two years if she worked at it – the Master's degree that would secure it, the job of her dreams.

April smirked as she pulled out her phone and scanned it, and she just shook her head as she stared at the photo of Katie tagging an enormous snapping turtle. Sometimes she could just imagine it, the message she'd get some day about how Katie had been eaten by it – a shark or an alligator or a giant pelican or one of those mutant snakeheads from Alex's movies even if she did always snark on him about it, that it wasn't biologically possible no matter what the he said about it.

It was his fault, anyway, April imagined, since he started it – with her pond in the yard and Atlantis 2.0 and Mayfield Academy and the trips to the aquarium and the scuba gear. Not that it would've done much good to resist it, she reminded herself wryly, since Katie was her own little personal hurricane and a force of nature no matter how you looked at it.

She scanned to her next saved message and frowned at it, since it would be finished soon – the gazebo – and he'd need something new to keep him busy during it, building a drawbridge or a moat maybe – since it would involve flying, Abbey's up-coming six week summer internship in New York City.

She could already imagine the nervous wreck he'd be until Abbey was done with it, and back safely in her room, telling Mrs. DuBois all about it. It would be six solid weeks of it, April imagined with a sigh, frozen yogurt on the couch at 3 a.m. no matter how much he'd insist that he just wanted to see it –whatever ridiculous documentary the Science Fiction channel was showing at that hour – and that it had nothing to do with it, his being up that late, Abbey excitedly visiting the fashion district in New York City, and living in the center of it.

She could already imagine it, too, she thought to herself, on her own flight to Ohio later that month, that Abbey would just fall in love with it – Manhattan and the yellow checker cabs and the horse drawn carriages and the historic bridges and the rush and the beat of it. It would be Katie all over again, except with human sharks surrounding her – and there would be no way to talk her out of it, wanting it, the lights and the crowds and the museums and the excitement and the glamour of it.

It sounded vaguely familiar, too, she thought with a smirk as she gathered her luggage. She'd planned it all, too, once upon a time. She'd go off to Seattle to get it – her choice residency – and then she'd return to Ohio, and she'd never leave it again. She'd live on a small farm near her parents' place, and she'd be a general practice surgeon at the county hospital, and her kids would go to school where she had, and it would all just fall into place.

It would all just fall into place, she reminded herself with a smirk as she greeted her parents at the airport, where they were waiting to pick her up. It would all be just like it had been when she was a kid, she reminded herself, as she watched the silos through the car window, on their winding ride home.

it would never involve looming questions about adoption forms and biological parents, and it would never involve shark spotting in far-away Florida or dress making in menacing Manhattan, never mind hurtling down snow covered mountains where even the go to chick in trauma might not be able to help you. It all just bubbled around her, too, as she asked about it – her mother's new prescriptions and her father's pace maker and Aunt Edna's bypass, which just blew it all away, her hope that at least it would protect her heart, the padding that stubbornly clung to her own hips thanks to it – to Alex's morbid late night non-worrying and the tri-flavored frozen yogurt that went it.

It stayed with her the following day, too, and she smirked again as she ran her hand over the smooth, well-worn swing seat on the gazebo in her parents' yard. It was just like she remembered it, the gentle summer breezes and the stars twinkling in the distance and the sliver of moon hanging over the barn and the crickets chirping around it.

She just leaned back as she rocked and she heard it echo in her ears – her mother's off-hand comment that she didn't know where it had all gone, the time. She couldn't imagine where it had gone, either, and she smiled wryly as she pulled out the new camera the kids had given her for Mother's day, and she sighed as she glanced through the photos of their latest picnic to celebrate it – Katie mugging for the camera with the giant rubber snakehead she and Nicholas had pulled from the creek, Abbey proudly displaying the summer dress she'd made for Mrs. DuBois, since she needed to be ready for it, too, fashion week in Manhattan, even if she wasn't traveling to it with her, Eric hoisting his latest academic trophy, which he'd crowed about even though the girls teased him about it – all the squabbling over the hotly contested ring toss game, which had ended in "a freaking tie," at least to hear Alex tell it.

It loomed in the background, too, the finished gazebo, and it was beautiful, she had to admit it, and it was the kind of place Abbey would love, she imagined, with its elaborate latticed wood work. She just sighed as she remembered it, that it was right around the corner – Abbey's twentieth birthday – and it would be coming for her and she'd have a year to think about it, whether she wanted to contact the agency about it – her adoption, and her birth parents – and she didn't even want to think about it.

It would kill him, April decided, as she flipped back to the picture of it – of Alex and Abbey having their morning pancakes on it, the swing seat on the gazebo – and it made her nauseous just imagining it. It had been different with Katie, she reminded herself, even though Katie had spouted it more than once – that they weren't her real parents – since it wasn't like Katie had ever wanted it, any reminders of her past, and it wasn't like Katie would've done it – actually gone and searched it out – and it wasn't like he and Katie hadn't had a difficult time of it, even if they were the only two people on the planet that didn't see it, how alike they were about all of it, when you got right down to it.

It was something else entirely with Abbey, though, she reminded herself, since Abbey had always been thrilled with it, being a Karev, and Abbey had made him proud of it, too – being a hard scrabble Russian immigrant who built Iowa – and Abbey bragged about it, about how her dad saved babies for a living.

Abbey shared it, too, his warped humor, and Abbey got it – that he loved her as much as any father possibly could, even if he stumbled over it, the actual words – and Abbey adored it, whatever it was that made him haul home Mrs. DuBois in twenty degree weather just because he was sure she'd love her.

She studied the photo again, and she just sighed as she thought about it – about Florida and New York and Cal tech and sharks and fashion shoots and skiing – and she reminded herself that she should be grateful for it, since she'd seen it too often – mothers who charged into the emergency room praying for miracles, and who left planning funerals.

She was grateful for it, too, she was, that they were healthy and happy and pursuing whatever it was they wanted – and at least it wasn't prescriptions and pace makers and surgeries with them, she reminded herself - and she just smiled as she answered all the questions about it at dinner the next evening – about Eric her future engineer, and Katie who was going to save the oceans and Abbey who was going to be a famous fashion designer someday.

She answered the rest of the questions, too – about whether Alex was finally eating more vegetables, since he was a doctor and all, about whether he had finally figured out how to hang lighted candy canes right side up – since Eric had obviously gotten his intelligence from his mother – about whether Alex had finally gotten the hang of it – "you know, romance," Aunt Edna smiled at her, nodding eagerly, since Aunt Edna might have been near eighty but she was thoroughly plugged into it, her nieces' grapevine, which had long made an extensively debated topic of it, their Valentine's Day misadventures, and she just smirked as she assured her of it – once her parents were out of ear shot – that it was still in regular use, her Wonder Woman costume, and that it fit just right around her hips, and that Alex still loved it.

* * *

><p>It came like clockwork, like it did every fucking year – the envelope from the adoption agency – and he just shoved it under the basket.<p>

It wasn't like April wasn't stressed out enough over it – the state of Seattle's certification review of her emergency room's prized Trauma Level One status. It wasn't like she needed to be reminded of it – the fucking social services system's plot to undermine everything they'd built for the girls over the years.

It wasn't like she needed to worry about it, either, that unlike Katie, Abbey might actually pursue it, since she'd always loved it, all that stuff about family histories and old photographs. Even Mrs. DuBois had one – her own little family tree all worked out, even if Abbey laughed at it, too, their joke about how Mrs. DuBois might even have been made out of it.

It sat under the basket, anyway, beside Abbey's unused griddle, and she wouldn't be home from New York in time for it, either, her twentieth birthday, she'd be in Manhattan celebrating it.

He could already imagine it, too, that she'd be off with her friends and with Dani touring it, the freaking fashion capital of the world, and she'd fall in love with it – the tiny apartment she was sub-letting for three grand a month, which looked to be about the size of their pantry, from what he saw in the photo she'd e-mailed him of it.

She'd just spend her weeks taking pictures of it, though, and making up stories in her head about it, about how Mrs. DuBois first set foot on it – Ellis island – after the war, about how she made it big as a model, about how her new country had become her home, and about how she'd forgotten all about it – her missing husband, her home in Paris – about how it was all so heroic and romantic, how she just moved on after all of it.

He could already hear it, even though she wouldn't be home until August, and he could already see it, even if she wouldn't be showing them all the pictures she'd taken of it until after she'd unpacked and reorganized it all, and it all swirled around in his head as he finished it, the charting he'd been putting off for weeks, and it all bubbled around him as he served a late shift on the NICU, the reminders of it – that she was still too young for it, to be off on her own in a giant city.

He never should've agreed to it, he reminded himself, her flying clear across the country by herself, even if Dani was there to meet her at it, the airport where Beth did it regularly during flight delays – not that Abbey was doing it, he reminded himself, since they had discussed it, and it wasn't like she'd been doing it even with those guys Beth hired to take it all off and have it all photographed, since Abbey was too smart to do it before she was ready for it, anyway.

He smirked when he got it the following week, though, a cryptic text message saying that Mrs. DuBois was holding it, the Father's Day gift Abbey had made for him, and he just rolled his eyes as he ran his fingers over it – and he laughed as he noticed Mrs. DuBois holding it, the card she included with it.

It would be coming back with Abbey from New York, apparently, the rest of it, and he just set it up on the shelf in her room besides his old trophies and sized it up again, since he got it – he did – the joke – and it was typical Abbey and it just reminded him of it all over again – that it might not have been Abbey at all, sending it to him for Father's Day, if the adoption agency had had any say in it.

It was all her, though, he reminded himself as he scanned it again, the wall of shelves he'd built for it, her archive, and the photo gallery lining it – pictures of his mother, even, he noticed with a wry smirk – and distant relatives whose names he couldn't even give her – and she probably had wanted more of it, more of a history, and it would be just like her to delve into it with her biological parents.

He could just imagine it, too, her digging up pictures and documents of it – a whole new family history – and her filling the rest of it all in until it was hers, too, and it slowly pushing his aside – the one about the hard scrabble Russian immigrants building up Iowa and the hard working, trophy winning wrestlers and the surgeon who saved babies for a living – the one he'd started to like, when he got right down it.

It would kill April, too, he reminded himself, scanning a photo of it – of April and the kids celebrating it, the past Mother's Day – and it wouldn't have been Abbey and Katie at all if she hadn't pushed so hard for it, and it was all her fault, he grumbled to himself whenever he passed it over the next week – the basket with the envelop lurking under it.

She could never live with it, either, he reminded himself as he picked up three more gallons of it, the tricolored frozen yogurt, even if she only ate the pink part of it.

It was the last thing she needed, too, he reminded himself as he plopped down on the couch near midnight on an early July evening, since it wasn't getting any easier, the paper work and the staff management and all the work that went into, being the go to chick in trauma, even if the state had finally recognized it, that she was the best in the state at it, maybe even the country when you got right down to it.

He reminded her of it at lunch the next day, too – that she was the best at it. He just rolled his eyes when she tried to deflect it, and he just nodded and shrugged when she went off on it again – about how it wasn't practical to run at Trauma Level One with the staffing levels the Board wanted – and he just smirked when she griped about it, how the new interns weren't interested in it, trauma drills.

He just set her laughing, too, when he reminded her of it, the first drill they'd run together on Hunt's service, and it just set her scowling when he insisted on it – that she was irrationally competitive when you got right down to it – and it spilled over into a raucous darts match at Joe's later that evening, since it wasn't like they could go home without settling it.

He heard about it for the rest of the week, too, about how it hadn't been cheating even if she had done it on purpose– jostled his arm just as he released it. He heard about it from Meredith, too, as if she hadn't even seen it, and he heard about it all the way from San Francisco, not that Mere could help it, and he heard about it all the way from Florida, where Katie snickered about it, and from Manhattan, where Abbey giggled about it, and from the kitchen, where Eric swore it was all about orbital trajectories, and from Bora Bora… or maybe Burma… since it wasn't like any branch of the grape vine missed out on it, on how his final dart had landed freaking two tenths of an inch from the center of hers, as if that settled it.

He wouldn't hear about it that early September evening, though, since she'd be fussing over his tie and squawking about it again, how he needed to polish his pinchy shoes, and rolling her eyes at it – his reluctance to eat the chicken served at the banquet – which had some weird vegan sauce covering it.

It was great to see it, though, – the lifetime achievement award the Board gave to Richard Weber, and he just smirked as Bailey got all teary eyed about it. He just laughed with Meredith about it – about how Burke and Yang were barely speaking, again, even though they'd flown in to Seattle for it – and it all spilled over into Joe's again, and it was another raucous darts match, though it totally shouldn't have counted – his last toss – considering how much freaking Yang had distracted him before he let go of it.

"You missed the dart board entirely," April reminded him, giggling as Alex drove home through it, the chilly September rain.

"Yang cheated," he grumbled, scowling at it, the unusually long traffic light, at least, to hear him tell it.

She just smirked at it, the tie that was already all askew, and she could already imagine it, how the pinchy shoes would be tossed into the back of the closet the first moment he had to do it.

She just leaned back and closed her eyes and pictured it, the award that Richard had gotten for his lifetime of it – service to the hospital and the medical profession - and she couldn't help but imagine it, how jealous Cari would be of her if it was her someday, up on that stage receiving it.

"Don't leave them in the hall," she reminded him the moment they walked into it, the dimly lit kitchen.

They were already off and dangling in his hands – and she just rolled her eyes at it, whatever he might have muttered as he padded up the stairs with them, his pinchy shoes, and it was already on the stove, her tea kettle, by the time she heard it, him digging around upstairs, and he was already back and rooting around in the refrigerator by the time she'd hung up her coat and pulled off her own high heeled pumps with a scowl.

"You wouldn't be hungry if you ate your meal," she reminded him, as she moved toward the stairs.

"Freaking sauce," she heard him grumble as he reached for it, Churchill's frozen yogurt bowl.

She just smirked as she pictured it, another late night Science Fiction movie marathon, and she just smiled as she hung it up – her neat red dress – recalling all the compliments she'd gotten on it, and she giggled as she caught a glimpse of it, her Wonder Woman costume.

It was too late for that, though, she reminded herself, and it would be tea and her fluffy yellow robe while he watched it – whatever nonsense the Discovery channel was presenting as possible fact that evening – and she just smirked again as she noticed it, after she'd gone back downstairs and gathered her tea and settled down onto the couch beside him – that Churchill had already finished his frozen yogurt, and Pecans had already finished her Tuna treat, and Tobey and Gracie were still gnawing on their fresh bones, and Pancakes was still savoring the freshly microwaved pair of mini hot dogs that mysteriously appeared in her dish every night – because they were all spoiled no matter how often he said it, that it was her freaking zoo, and he didn't want anything to do with it.

"You didn't eat your chicken?" he snorted, as he pointed to her own heaping bowl of Strawberry frozen yogurt.

She just stuck her tongue out at him over it, because it had been a little under cooked even if she could have ignored it – the odd smell of the sauce – and it wasn't like she'd be eating it at all, the frozen yogurt, if he'd stop buying it. It wasn't like they'd even have so much of it if he'd eat all three flavors of it like a normal person, and she didn't want to hear it, either – about how she only ever ate the girly pink part of it, since what was she supposed to do about it if he and Churchill only ate the chocolate and vanilla parts of it, since it wasn't like she was going to waste it.

"Missed the dart board entirely," she repeated smugly, licking her spoon.

She just laughed again as it set him squirming. It wasn't her fault that Cristina was on her side, and it wasn't her fault that she was just better at darts – no matter what he said about it. It wasn't like she was the one who'd pout about it for the rest of the week, either, and it wasn't like she was the one already plotting it, another re- match – since it was written all over his face, no matter how much he'd deny it.

"It was cheating," he growled again after he'd finished it, his bowl of frozen yogurt.

She just rolled her eyes again as she set her own bowl down beside his on the coffee table, and she just shrugged at Pecans as she shooed her away from the center of the couch, and she just snickered as she glanced at the animation on the screen, and she almost groaned as she settled back into his worn brown plaid flannel pajama shirt, since really, how could he possibly believe any of it.

"That's biologically impossible, you know," she snorted as she pointed to it, the illustration of an ancient ship being devoured by a giant sea monkey, from the looks of it.

"It's not like the fossil record is complete or anything," he frowned, watching it intently as his arms closed more tightly around her.

"They might find it," he added, nodding wide eyed and eagerly as she tightened her own grip around him, burrowing closer into his chest.

"Only if it's stamped 'made in China,'" she giggled sleepily, yawning as she sank into it, the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his breathing and the steady pulsing of his heartbeat against her cheek.

She just sighed quietly as she felt it, the light fleece throw he tugged around her, and she stretched lazily as she noticed it again, how freaking uncomfortable her own pinchy shoes had been that evening, not that she'd ever admit it, she reminded herself as she dozed off, or she'd never hear the end of it.

It was still wrapped around her nearly an hour later, his grasp, when she stirred briefly just to notice it – that he'd lit it for the first time that fall, the fire place – and she could still feel it as she shifted slightly, his fingers lightly stroking her arm, and she could still feel it as his steady breathing continued beneath her, his lips occasionally brushing her hair, and she could still hear it as she dozed again, the familiar beat of his heart.

She smirked as she imagined her sisters teasing her about it, about her old romance novels and the Museum of Medical Oddities and the silly carnivals on Valentine's Days and the herd of giraffes she'd amassed over the years – as if that wasn't all part of it – whatever it was that pulsed quietly beneath the soft brown flannel – even if it was nothing like she'd ever expected it to be, even if it was spoiled cats and upside down Barbie Dream house stair cases and open convertibles in twenty degree weather and death trap sleds and awful jokes and complaints about pinchy shoes and mutant snake heads that were biologically impossible no matter what he said about it.

It was still wrapped around her late the next morning, too, and she was still bundled up in it as she woke on the couch. It was already gone, her empty bowl, and she smirked as she remembered that he'd lost another darts bet. It was Saturday, anyway, and that he was probably off doing it, teaching Eric to drive, since he'd already gotten his learner's permit – and it was just bewildering where it had all gone, too, – the time between when Eric had been playing with his little motorized convertible in the driveway, and when he'd started lusting after the real thing.

It made her grimace, too, her word choice – since it wasn't the only thing he was lusting after – and she had no idea where all that time had gone, either, the time between when Emma Milton down the street had gone from gross to hot. She didn't want to think about it, about how much it had to do with hair and boobs and removed braces and how well she could fill it out – a Wonder Woman costume – since she imagined it was genetic, and she could just imagine what Alex might tell him about it.

Not that she even wanted to know, really, since it had been awkward enough with Abbey and she still hadn't really talked about it much with Katie and she still wished it came all summarized in an illustrated manual she could pass out to them, not that there were even any words for it.

It was coming up fast, too, she reminded herself the following month – Eric's 17th birthday – and she could already imagine squabbling with Alex about Eric needing a cool car for it – the whole chick thing – and it just reminded her of it all over again weeks later as she watched Eric dress up for it, a Halloween costume party at his friend's house up the street – that it wasn't like he probably even needed it - since he already had it – Alex's shy smile and Alex's bemused smirk and Alex's burly arms – even if Alex couldn't ski to save his life, she reminded herself with a smirk - and Alex's hazel eyes and Alex's grumbly voice and she just couldn't help it, shuddering at the thought of the pretty young girls trying to resist it.

It was all there all over again, too, she noted as she watched it – Eric flash her an eager toothy vampire smile as he rooted through it, the huge candy cauldron for the trick-or-treaters – the quirky humor and the quiet strength, even if he just scoffed at it – the whole snake head thing – and it would be heading off to Cal Tech before she knew it, since he'd already applied to it – Early Decision – and he'd had his mind set on it for as long as she could remember – and it wasn't like the Admission's Council could hold it against him, she'd already assured him, that his father believed in it – the whole dinosaur snake head in their back creek thing – and it wasn't like he wasn't already his own person, anyway, when you got right down to it.

She wondered what it would do to him, too, since she was sure Alex would joke with him about it – about the car and the college and the solar powered flying skis he could probably invent at it.

But it had already been different that past summer, with Katie in Florida and Abbey in New York and Eric interning at a nearby engineering company – and it wasn't like she hadn't noticed it, how many more flower holes Alex had dug when Abbey was in New York, and it wasn't like she hadn't noticed it, how often he pulled it out –his Miami Hurricanes tee shirt – even if it was just because it was "freaking comfortable," – and it wasn't like she hadn't noticed it, the way his face darkened when he looked at it – all the mail Eric was getting from Cal Tech, and it wasn't about the "forty grand a year plus books" no matter what Alex said about it.

It was just like her mother had said it would be, she reminded herself with as she glanced out across it, the yard, as she watched Eric trail down the walkway – and she giggled as she noticed it, that he and Alex had haunted it, the gazebo, with flashing lights and a bubbling cauldron and a moving Frankenstein and rotating witches – it was all moving faster the older they got, and it had been just yesterday, she thought wistfully, when they took him trick or treating for the first time.

It had been a gap toothed, giggling, hiccupping squabble with him and his sisters over their candy haul, back then, and it had been exactly as she dreamed it would be there for a moment, with them all happily trick or treating in their adorable little costumes – well, at least until Winston had snatched away a huge Heresy bar, and thrown it up all over her freshly polished kitchen floor along with a mass of cheese doddles – at least, just judging from the color of it.

It had been like that with her and her own sisters, though, she reminded herself, the year Beth and Dani had warred over it, the prized Mermaid costume. It had always come to that, really, since it was always crazy competitive between them for it, her mother's time and her father's attention, and sometimes she'd wondered about it, lately, if that was where it had all started – Dani's need to be the center of every conversation and Beth's need to publish her photos in all the best magazines and Cari's need to land a status Attending and Jenny's need to win every case as if her life freaking depended on it .

It had always been like with Katie and Abbey, too, she reminded herself, as she finished filling the candy buckets – even it had always been different costumes and different friends and different cars and different majors and different states and different goals. It was still Hurricane Katie and Victorian Abbey almost from day one and she smirked as she imagined it – how she could possibly explain it, if their biological mother ever asked about it – how it could begin with two frightened, withdrawn little girls, and end up with shark chasing in the Atlantic and fashion designing along the Pacific, even if she couldn't imagine it any other way, really, her whole life with them, when she got right down to it.

It was all rushing past in a blur, though, and she didn't want to think about it – the envelope lurking under the wicker mail basket – and she didn't want to imagine it, what it might do to Alex if Abbey followed up on it.

She didn't want to hear it, either – about how he warned her about it right from the beginning, the whole damn system. It all just swirled in her head until it began, the yearly onslaught of Cowboys and ballerinas and Jedi and witches and ghosts and goblins and it was another full moon, she noticed, and it was another chilly evening, she thought, as she tugged her own witch's hat down more snugly, and she would've warned him about it except that they were going as Spiderman and Aqua Man that year, Alex and Nicholas, and it was already insulated, Alex's red and black webbed get up.

She giggled at it, anyway, as Alex loped down the stairs with it – his battery powered, silly string shooting spider web producing glove – and she smiled as she straightened it, Nicholas's right fin, and she smirked as she reminded herself of it, as they watched them walk out into the crowded street – that she'd need to fish it out of the candy bucket before she ran out of it – a handful of Snickers bars – since it wasn't just pale moonlight and black cats and marauding zombies and cackling witches and chain rattling ghosts and haunted houses and bubbling cauldrons, it was basically their sort of anniversary.

She'd need it, too, she reminded herself with a giggle, the stash of Snickers bars – since it would be her in her Wonder Woman costume later that evening, and she'd be doing it with Spider Man – even if it did scandalize the Halls of Justice – and it always kept him purring afterwards, a stash of Snickers bars. She could already imagine it, too, what it would be like to do it with Spider Man, and she was grateful that it was Friday, since she'd never be able to explain it on the hospital grapevine – why she was still picking silly string out of her hair – even if it wasn't really their business, which super hero she was doing it with – not that she would hide it, anyway, since really, like Spider Man always said, if you've got it, flaunt it.

* * *

><p>"You sure it's not too soon?" Alex asked, studying the ring seriously.<p>

It wasn't like Andrew was a bad guy or anything. It was just that it was a big step, with Nicholas and all, and it would be very different, if they were all living together, and it wasn't like Amber didn't know what she was doing. But it hadn't worked out with Nicholas' father, either, and it was totally different, once you involved a kid in it.

"It's been almost two years," Amber said, smoothing her floral dress as she glanced around the room. "April's sisters are already planning it," she added, smiling wryly.

"It'll be fancy," Alex agreed, nodding as he scanned Beth's living room, while they waited for the usual Thanksgiving Day feast to begin.

"Think horse drawn carriages," he smirked, noting the elaborate candle display covering the hulking mantles of the room's two fire places. He could already imagine the poufy dress, the pinchy shoes, the strangling ties – and he couldn't help thinking that it was like asking for trouble, making a big production out of it – a wedding -at least, as far as he remembered it.

"I told them we want it to be small and simple," Amber insisted, shaking her head. "Just the family."

"That rules out simple," he pointed out, motioning with his eyes toward where Beth and Dani were avidly debating something, while Jenny and Cari interrupted, and April refereed.

He wasn't sure when it had happened, exactly, when Amber had become one of the Estrogen Brigade. But it had been lunches with Beth and texting with Dani and squabbling with Jenny and competing with Cari and decorating with April for as long as he could remember.

They talked about all of it, too, as far as he could tell, purses and perfume and kids and Oprah and sex and carpets and calories and vases – and it had all just become "the family" somewhere along the line. It wasn't like he got it, exactly, the whole family thing, except that it seemed to be about sticking together with each other no matter how much you annoyed each other, when you got right down to it.

"They enjoy it," she shrugged, glancing around the room again. "I think I could, too."

She probably could, he imagined, since it wasn't like she'd ever had sisters, and it wasn't like April would give hers up for anything, even if Cari was braggy and Jenny was argumentative and Dani was flirty and Beth was flighty and April was in charge of managing it, at least, as far as he could tell it.

It wasn't like Katie and Abbey would give each other up, either, he imagined with a smirk – even if it hadn't seemed like that at all for a while there, back when they redid the attic, when only a whole floor between them had prevented it, an actual murder –and he'd been right about it, he reminded himself, no matter what April said about it.

It was different now, though, he reminded himself, and it wasn't actually necessary for there to a whole country between them – even if it had worked out like that, at least for the moment – and it wasn't like it would drive Katie and Abbey apart, he reminded himself, the envelop lurking under the wicker mail basket, even if it might shatter the rest of it.

"What's Nicholas think of it?" he asked quietly.

"He's excited," Amber said almost hesitantly, glancing across the room as Andrew and Nicholas chatted with April's father. "You can ask him about it," she offered. "He likes Andrew."

"Andrew's cool," Alex agreed reluctantly, watching them closely.

He was, Alex imagined, at least, for an accountant. But he just didn't get it about Legos, and he wasn't experienced with the whole kid thing, and he didn't dress up for Halloween, and he didn't even like football, and he'd never go hunting for creek monsters – you could tell just by looking at it, the tie that's he'd probably spent three hundred bucks on – and he did it every day, wore expensive suits and pinchy shoes, and he might expect Nicholas to do it, too.

"You can still have Halloween," she said, almost giggling, as if reading his mind. "And I'll still bring him over for play dates. You still have all the best toys," she teased.

"I don't-" Alex sputtered, frowning at her as he swigged his beer.

It wasn't like that at all, he insisted to himself. It was just that fathers were supposed to teach their sons stuff – like football, which they should know about, even if they liked skiing better – which was cool, and dinosaurs – even if they denied that opposable thumbs were that old – and superheroes, even if they admired engineers more – and Legos, since they might grow up to be architects, and how to build a lighted human skeleton with a working circulatory system, since they should just know human anatomy and physiology, even if they never actually used it.

"I have the pictures, remember, Spiderman?" she noted, giggling again.

"April likes Halloween," he grumbled, a blushing pout settling across his face.

It wasn't like he made the rules, either, since it wasn't like it had been his idea to drag the girls out trick or treating. It wasn't like it had been his idea to leave cookies out for Santa Claus, either, and it wasn't like it had been his idea to cover the porch with jumbo candy canes – which weren't upside down no matter what April said about it. It was just that you did holiday crap with kids, no matter what you personally thought about it.

"I want him to play with you," Amber said, more seriously. "I mean, I want him to… it's not like he's going to love you any less," she stammered softly. "Or April, or the kids," she added quickly.

"It's a great neighborhood for trick or treating," Alex said gruffly. "They give out a lot of Snickers bars," he added, nodding more enthusiastically. "Those are the best."

It was a good neighborhood for it, too, and it wasn't like Nicholas didn't already have a few friends in it, and it wasn't like he didn't like it, with the creek for monster hunting and the back hill for sledding and the pond with the fish and the Lego pirate ship still in it – even if the pirate ship was haunted – at least, that's what he told Nicholas about it.

"He'll be there," she agreed, squeezing his arm. "I promise."

"It would really disappoint April if he wasn't," Alex agreed, shrugging and glancing down at his shoes.

It would, too, since it wasn't like things weren't up in the air enough already – with Abbey and the envelope under the wicker mail basket – and it wasn't like she didn't love it, Halloween, and it wasn't like she wasn't awesome at it, the whole kid thing, and it wasn't like Nicholas didn't adore her, and it wasn't like he could have more enthusiastic aunts, even if they sometimes went a little over board with it.

"I know," Amber smirked, glancing over at her again. "She suggested we get married in your yard, actually, in the gazebo. She said it would be romantic," she added, giggling again.

"Yeah," Alex smirked, shaking his head and shrugging. "She's into those chick books and stuff."

He never did get it, what it was about those books – since it wasn't like those guys on the covers looked all that great, and it wasn't like she couldn't get kinkier pictures from Beth if she wanted them, and it wasn't like the stories could be all that different from the sappy holiday movies she watched – which were all about bright lighting and silly special effects, when you got right down to it.

"Romance novels?" Amber asked. "And she married you?" she teased.

"She loves it," he insisted smugly, shaking his head. "We can watch him, you know. When you go on your honeymoon and all," Alex added. "I mean, if you … if-"

It wasn't like he was volunteering for it or anything. It was just that it would be a big adjustment – for Nicholas – and it would be a great time to go to the Water Park, if they did it in the spring, and it would probably help take Nicholas' mind off it – the new Roaring Dragon with the seventy foot drop water fall and the Rapid Raging Log Rolling ride, and it wasn't like Abbey or Katie would be home in time for it – the opening weekend – and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't be into it – even if it didn't involve snow – it was just that it would take Nicholas' mind off it.

"I'd like that," Amber agreed. "He really does have fun with you guys, you know."

"He's a cool kid," Alex replied, shrugging.

He was, too, Alex thought, glancing over approvingly at him as the boy scowled at it – his tie – and it wasn't Nicholas' fault that everything was changing, and it wasn't his fault that Andrew didn't like it – football – and it wasn't like he shouldn't learn about it all – skeleton building and super heroes and Legos and haunted pirate ships and how to make a working volcano – even if his mother was a little over protective or him, when you got right down to it.

"I asked April about your honeymoon," she teased. "I guess you guys had fun then, too," she smirked.

"She loved it," Alex agreed, nodding smugly again.

* * *

><p>"I'll be back with it in fifteen minutes," Eric smirked, mumbling as he stuffed another hot sugar cookie into his mouth.<p>

"I have enough flour here for another hour and a half at least," April corrected him, eyeing him sternly.

"No speeding, no texting while driving-" April continued, wiping her hands on her snowman apron, because she was going to make time for it this year if she had to stay awake for two weeks straight to do it– make Christmas cookies with Abbey.

"No loud music," Katie added, frowning as she tried to force a lop-sided reindeer cookie back into shape, since it really wasn't her thing, baking.

"No checking out the hot chicks," Abbey continued, giggling, since they'd all heard this litany since the day Eric had gotten his learner's permit.

"Seat belt at all times," Katie chimed in, imitating Alex's voice as she poked at another lumpy mass of cookie mix.

"Three car lengths between you at all times," Abbey volunteered, since it was next in the speech. "Dad probably means that about you and the hot chicks, too," Abbey added, laughing as Eric scowled at her, and sliding another glass of milk across the counter to him.

"Young ladies," April corrected them, rolling her eyes and sighing as they all laughed at it, before Eric grabbed his keys and went off to get it, the baking supplies they'd need for that afternoon.

She gave it another week, two, tops, before he'd be so eager to do it – traipse off to the grocery store, or the post office, or the dry cleaner – just so he'd have any excuse to use it, his new license, and just so he could demonstrate it, that he could do it without causing a ten car pile-up. Not that it mattered, since they'd already agreed on it, that he'd get a car like his sisters had when they had gotten their driver's licenses, even if he was still much too young for one, as far as she was concerned about it.

It wasn't like Alex hadn't been right about it, exactly, she grumbled – since it wasn't like it was fair to treat him differently just because he was a boy. It wasn't that, though, she insisted, it was just that it was all about speed with Eric – racing down those hulking mountains on his skis or his snow board or those death trap Super Spinner Saucer sleds they still dragged out of the garage every time it snowed over the holidays – him and Abbey and Katie and Alex – as if the fate of civilization hung on it, who made it to the bottom first, as if it wasn't much more important to consider, say, making it down in one piece, not that they'd listen to her, she reminded herself, frowning again, since – hey – she was only a widely respected Level One certified trauma surgeon – so it wasn't like she'd know anything about it.

"You're doing it wrong," Abbey giggled, watching as Katie struggled with it, the recalcitrant lump she was trying to coax into the shape of an angel.

"Can't you just buy these pre-made?" she grumbled impatiently.

April couldn't help but laugh at it, either, because it was typical Katie – wanting everything done in an instant – and it would just never quite suit her, the whole Christmas cookie baking thing, and it just didn't fit with her no matter how much she still enjoyed it, snow skiing, because it was all sun streaked hair with her, and the scent of ocean breezes no matter how much she washed it, and it was all water skiing and sandy beaches and palm trees and she just loved it, the tiny beach house she was renting – all 600 square feet of it – and the surf board rack she'd had mounted on it, her little pink beetle car, and the job that would help her save it – the whole planet, to hear her talk about it, or at least, her sandy stretch of it.

"That's not the point," Abbey insisted, rolling over it and encouraging her to start it again. "You'll want to do it with your kids someday, right?"

There was dead silence for a moment, before the girls both started laughing hysterically about it, and April joined in a second later, since Katie had made it clear for as long as any of them could remember about it, that there would be no children for her as long as she had any say in it.

She'd never really known what to say about it, April remembered, since it wasn't like she could imagine it, her own life without them, but it wasn't like Katie couldn't make her own decisions about it, and it wasn't like any of them could picture it, really, Hurricane Katie with a baby, and it wasn't like it had ever been her, April admitted, the whole white picket fence thing, and it wasn't like she didn't have plenty of role models for it – since it wasn't like Dani hadn't already given up on it, ever having a child with Neil, and it wasn't like Beth had time for it, or needed it – when she had other people's kids to spoil – and it wasn't like anyone could imagine Jenny doing it, at least, not in any way that would lead to a sane child in the end, when you got right down to it, and it wasn't like Cari wanted it, either, the whole suburban house and white picket fence thing, at least, not if it didn't come with a senior Attending.

"I'll bring some of these down to dad," Katie insisted finally, tossing it down onto the flour covered counter – the rolling pin – and it was a minor miracle she'd gotten that far with it, April thought with a smirk, since it wasn't like Katie had the patience for it, any of it.

"I need more pecans," Abbey announced suddenly as she noticed it, Katie loading up a plate with still steaming bell and reindeer sugar cookies, and she was on it before April knew it – her phone – and she was insisting that Eric photograph it, the package he was about to buy, so that she could approve it, and April giggled as she heard it – a minor squabble over a supposed "transport fee," before Abbey let Eric have it, something about not getting another hot cookie again as long as he lived if he didn't just bring it home with the rest of the groceries – and it all sounded familiar, as if it hadn't changed at all.

It had, though, April reminded herself, as she rolled more of the cookie mix out onto a baking sheet, and it was Eric's last Christmas before he started college, and it was Abbey's last Christmas, before her final year, and it was Katie's last Christmas before she finished it, her Master's degree, and it was probably the last Christmas Nicholas would still believe in Santa Claus – if he hadn't caught on about it already – and it was their last Christmas together before Abbey needed to decide about it – whether she was going to pursue it, the information about her biological parents – and April just couldn't shake it, the feeling that it was all going to catch up with them, everything about it – the system – just like Alex had said it would, and she just didn't want to think about it, that Abbey and Katie might be spending their next Christmas with their biological mother, when you got right down to it.

"How's it look?" Abbey asked, poking curiously at it, and it took April a while to figure it out, that it was supposed to be a snowman.

"Like Mrs. DuBois," April noted, and she just couldn't help it, since she'd been around it for a solid week at that point – and they'd all swear it was funny, Abbey and Alex and Eric, and even Katie might quietly smirk at it – even if it was the kind of humor she'd expect from a fifth grader, when she got right down to it.

"I'll save it for her," Abbey agreed, nodding happily as she went back to it, and it might not even be Abbey's real mother that would take her away from it, April imagined, it might be the internship in LA that Abbey had just started chattering about, and it wasn't like she could even fathom it – that it would be Katie all over again, and that Eric would follow it, and that it would be just her and Alex in the house – well, and the zoo, and Mrs. DuBois, and the Super Heroes, though at least they'd be excited about it.


	25. Chapter 25

"You made these?" Alex asked, his eyes lighting up as Katie placed the plate on the coffee table, along with a fresh glass of milk.

"No," she snorted, grabbing two perfect snowmen and dropping down onto the couch beside him.

"Martha Stewart did it," she snickered, motioning toward the stairs with her eyes. "You know that's not possible, right?" she grumbled, waving one of her cookies at the television screen.

"You making edible cookies?" Alex retorted, raising his eyebrows at her.

"A snakehead growing arms," she corrected, rolling her eyes at him. "I've almost got a Masters in it, you know," she added smugly.

"It's a holiday classic," Alex insisted, shaking his head as he looked back at the movie.

"Jurassic Park is a holiday classic," she retorted, grabbing another cookie.

"You know that's not possible, right?" he countered. "And I'm a doctor."

"You're the stork," she giggled.

He almost groaned at it, because it was like she was Cristina's long list little sister, and she was fierce and passionate and brilliant and impossible and infuriating and even Meredith had pointed the similarities out to him more than once, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"So, three more classes?" he muttered awkwardly, a moment later.

He was hesitant to bring it up at all, since then he'd hear it all over again, about how he was nagging her about it, or not being sufficiently supportive of it – which made no sense no matter how often April said it since, really, it wasn't like she was asking them to pay for it.

It wasn't like she hadn't moved across the country for it, either, and it wasn't like she hadn't made it plain to him, that she didn't need a thing from him in order to do it, and she'd said it all pretty bluntly more times than he could count, that it wasn't like she even wanted them to have anything to do with it, when you got right down to it.

"Yeah," she said, fingering it reluctantly, her own milk glass.

He remembered it vividly, too, the day it started – with the fish tanks and the little bubbling aquarium toys and the colorful books about how to keep it all at the right temperature and how to get the water weeds to grow in it and how to light it so it wouldn't freak out the tetras of the gobies or the catfish or whatever else she put into it.

"So it really worked out, huh?" he asked finally.

Not that he'd doubted it, he reminded himself, that she could do it if she wanted to – anything, really - since she was smart and opinionated and tough and determined when she cared about it, whatever it was she was doing.

It was just that he could never get a sense of it, really, if she wanted it bad enough or not – and he'd been burned over it more than once – and he really hadn't wanted to hear about if from April again, that he was doing too much to push her at it, as if she didn't need it, or doing too little to encourage her at it, as if April couldn't even make up her own freaking mind about it – if they were supposed to be pressing Katie on it or not, whatever it was.

It all just left him bewildered and befuddled, since it wasn't like he wouldn't have paid for it, if she'd really wanted it, and it wasn't like he hadn't helped her float Atlantis 2.0 – even when April swore he was spoiling her with it – and it wasn't like he wouldn't have given her any opportunity she wanted, if she'd just take and do something with it.

"You don't have to sound so surprised about it," she snickered, scowling at him.

It was there all over again, the defiance, and he remembered it vividly, and he could hear it all over again – that she was happy about it, that they weren't really her parents – and it wasn't like April deserved it, and it pissed him off royally, since April was as a great mother, and she deserved to hear it, even if Katie was still too stubborn and angry to admit it.

"I'm not," he snapped. "I just-"

"You're mad I did it on my own," she snorted.

"We would've helped you," he retorted.

"You just-" he started, and it almost had him stammering.

It wasn't like they hadn't paid for it, the special school and the summer sailing camps and the first few years of college, and it wasn't like they hadn't tried as hard as they could to give her a better life, and she wouldn't have been better off with her biological parents no matter what she said about it.

"I didn't want it," she insisted, shaking her head and frowning again. "I wanted to do it myself."

* * *

><p>It was a bizarrely warm and sunny afternoon for February, and it wasn't going to last more than a day or two, and it made her vaguely uneasy when he announced it, that he'd arranged for them to have the rest of the day off. It was probably one of those Valentine's Days plots – plans, she reminded herself immediately to call them plans, no matter how they turned out.<p>

It certainly wasn't what she'd planned lunch, that they'd grab it while walking through the city park, and it still wasn't candles and tablecloths – it was hot dogs and jumbo pretzels from a street vendor's cart – and she resigned herself to it, dinner at the Museum of Medical Oddities, though she could already taste it – the decadent triple fudge ripple cake – which would always be the best thing about her Valentine's Days, at least, as far as she could tell it.

She wasn't expecting it at all though, that he'd already arranged it – to rent bikes for a ride through the park – and she giggled as she recalled it, that'd she'd mentioned it to him casually the month before, that she'd loved it, the fire engine red bike she'd had when she was eight.

It was true, too, apparently – that once you'd learned how to ride one, you never forgot how to do it – and it was a laughing and giggling and a warm breeze whistling through hair and sun dappling through the tree branches and birds chirping happily until she suggested it, that they race to it, the fountain at the other end of the park.

She just couldn't help it, she reminded herself later, since he'd scoffed at it initially – as if he couldn't even imagine it, the idea that she might beat him to it – and it was all his fault, since he'd ridden it along the edge of a pedestrian path, his own bike, and it had been his idea to begin with, the whole bike renting thing.

She had it, too, she did – the victory in her grasp, and she could taste it as she peddled furiously, and she was already chanting it breathlessly as she tried to speed past him– "I beat you, I beat you, I beat you," and she totally had it - until his bike swerved into it, her direct line to the fountain, which it did no matter what he said about it.

He was still going to lose the race to her, she'd snickered, hollering at him as she tried to race past him on it, and it was all his fault, she'd sputtered a moment later, dripping and gasping breathlessly after it – the collision which had landed them both in it – the cheerfully spewing public fountain.

It was all his fault, she insisted, as some curious, startled birds looked on - chirping animatedly, as if they were taking sides - and it was all his fault, she insisted, as the park cop ran over and asked them about it, and it was all his fault, she repeated, no matter what the nosy, busy body passers-by said about it, and she would too have beaten him, if he hadn't cheated at it – deliberately knocking her off balance, no matter what he said about it - and it was almost a citation for disorderly conduct until the cop burst out laughing hysterically about it – Alex's heated explanation that it was her freaking Valentine's Day present.

The cop finally gave up on it, though, writing the citation for causing a public disturbance, after agreeing that the commotion wasn't a mugging or a bike theft or even a domestic dispute – though it was starting to sound like it, the cop pointed out – and she just smirked smugly at Alex when the cop finally put it away, his citation book, while mentioning to Alex that he might want to try something simpler next year, like red roses and a fancy dinner at a nice candle lit restaurant , since the cop had done it that way himself and his wife had seemed to appreciate it.

It was a long explanation to the bike rental company, too, and she really didn't blame them for it – not refunding Alex's deposit money – and it was a frustrating and damp ride home as she was still picking coins from the fountain out of it, her tangled and matted hair.

It was on the way home, though, the Museum of Medical Oddities, and she just waited in the car as he went into the Museum of Medical Oddities for it, and she just watched as he returned, still dripping along the side walk as he carried it, a huge slab of triple fudge ripple cake, and she could already imagine trying to explain it all to her sisters, about how she'd almost been arrested for doing it in a public fountain, celebrating Valentine's Day.

At least she'd won it, she reminded herself, as they pulled into their drive way, and there'd be cake after it, she reminded herself, as she climbed into the shower in the family room's small bathroom – since she wasn't dripping it through the house – and she would've teased him about, his aching back, judging just from how he was moving it as he struggled to get the shampoo out of his hair. But she could already feel it even as she dug her hot soapy fingers into the base of his spine – the cramping in her legs from it, all that peddling from the race – not that it hadn't been worth it, just to beat him at it.

It took her another five solid minutes just to work the knots out of it, as the steamy water poured over the smooth curve of his back, and she just snickered as she bundled a huge warm towel around it, before pulling her own thick robe on, and she just smirked as she reminded him of it while he limped into the family room and sprawled awkwardly on the radioactive sea weed carpet – that she'd beat him at it.

She just smiled smugly as she dug into it, her triple fudge ripple cake, and she just rolled her eyes as he noticed it, that it was a struggle for her just to walk their plates back across to the coffee table, and she just shook her head as he smirked and worked his fingers into it, the throbbing cramp almost seizing her left calf, and she almost laughed as she noticed it, the fireplace flickering across the room, since it wasn't like either of them was in any shape to do it, even if it was Valentine's Day.

"Roses and dinner next year?" she teased, giggling as she watched him struggling awkwardly to settle down beside her after he'd finished it.

"It'd be safer for you," she pointed out, giggling again as he tried not to groan, still trying to hesitantly stretch out and gingerly straighten it, his stiff back.

"I hit the water first," he insisted smugly.

"That's not all you hit," she teased, smirking as she peeled it lightly away, the thick brown towel, and ran her fingers delicately over it, the purple bruise spreading along his left hip.

"And I still beat you to it," she added, smiling proudly as she continued to gently stroke his warm skin.

"Any trauma from it," he smirked tiredly, slipping her own robe slowly away from her body as he ran his eyes and his hands over it.

"Another Valentine's Day with no roses or candles?" she teased, giggling and tugging him closer as he nuzzled sleepily into her.

He'd always been defenseless against it, she reminded herself with a smirk, her warm fingers burrowing into the base of his spine, and it always made him comically drowsy, even if he denied it, and it was probably cheating she imagined, tracing her hand slowly along his silky back, but she'd get him to admit it eventually – even if it killed both of them - that she'd beat him at it fair and square.

"You loved it," he mumbled sleepily.

She almost giggled at it, the deep sighs that rippled through him as she ran her fingers over it, and she almost smirked at the soft murmurs that followed as she tugged it all closer, and she almost rolled her eyes as she noticed it again – the radioactive sea weed carpet, which really was comfortable, even though she'd never admit it.

She just smiled as she reminded herself of it, while she ran her eyes over it all again, that sometimes it was nice not to have to worry about it – about the kids walking in on it, or covering it all up – since it wasn't like she minded i t anymore, really, if the cats saw it, since they were pretty indifferent to it, and it wasn't like the dogs would say anything about it, and it wasn't like she didn't enjoy the view of it, she reminded herself, even if it was a little bruised.

"I did, actually," she whispered, brushing her lips to his hair as she listened to it, his deep, steady breathing.

It wasn't like it wouldn't make a great story for her sisters, that she'd almost been arrested for doing it in a public fountain, and it wasn't like she'd have to specify what the it was, exactly, since it was Valentine's Day, and it wasn't like it wasn't part of doing it, she reminded herself as she tugged him closer, listening to him breathe as he dozed in her arms, no matter what Beth said about it.

* * *

><p>"I got it!"<p>

It came on a late afternoon in March, Abbey's exuberant text announcing that she'd gotten her first choice job in LA.

It would be for her last year of school, technically, and she would get full academic credit for it, just like her internship, and it would be expensive – living in LA to do it – and she'd need help paying for it, but it was the opportunity of a life time, she'd told him, and even Mrs. DuBois was excited about it for her, at least to hear Abbey tell it.

It filtered through his mind as he worked through his long late night shift, and it was quiet in the cafeteria when he finally got around to dinner, after 9 p.m., and it was dark and cool in the NICU when he finally went up to check on it, the bowel obstruction surgery he'd performed the day before, and he just rolled his eyes at it – the green balloon attached to two month old Erin Murphy's crib as he scooped her out of it, and it was just a matter of time, he imagined, before she'd be done with school and out over at Joe's hoisting a beer just to celebrate it – her 21st St. Patrick's Day.

It all went that fast, he reminded himself, and he mentioned it to Erin, too, as she stretched and yawned and squirmed closer to him, and he wondered if her first time parents could fathom it, that however much of a roller coaster ride it had already been for them with a sick infant, it would all just move faster from there.

It would be bikes and cameras and antique French dress forms before they knew it, and it would be cars and crafts and college in another state before they realized it, and they could read that whole freaking parenting book they'd been carrying with them for the past two months, but they'd never be prepared for it, and it wouldn't matter, anyway, since she'd be gone before they'd even finished reading it.

It was a great school, though, he whispered to the baby, UC Irvine, and you got used to it eventually, the anteater mascot, and it had the best weather in the world, at least to hear Abbey tell it, and it had "really cute guys" – not that he wanted to hear about it, since, If it was anything like the University of Iowa, they were doing it everywhere, the cute guys, and she really should wait for it.

At least they wouldn't have to worry about it, though, he reminded himself, Erin's parents, since it wasn't like they'd be getting it, the fucking envelop that came every year announcing it – that she was someone else's daughter, at least, as far as the fucking agency saw it.

At least they didn't have to think about it, about how to deal with it – if she wanted to do something with it, the contact information leading her to it, her birth family – and at least they'd never have to wonder about it, if she'd just up and leave them behind someday for it, some new people who she'd never be able to trust – no matter what they told her about it, why they left her in it, the fucking system – when you got right down to it.

"It sucks," he grumbled, scowling and nodding his head as he held the baby tighter.

It wasn't like they'd have to worry about it, either, some stranger answering to it – mom or dad – as if that wouldn't be who they were once it started, the whole wild swirl of animal crackers and stray dogs and fluffy pink blankets and little mermaid lamps and stuffed tigers – just like the one on the animal cracker box - and glitter and red Super Spinning Racer sleds and Barbie dream houses – which were a whole lot freaking harder to build than they looked, when you got right down to it.

"It's smog-ey, too," he muttered, and it was – LA.

It was too big and too bright and too loud and too busy and he could already imagine it, Abbey being all swept up in it, the glitz and the glamor and the excitement of it.

She'd never want to come back from it, either – not even for Christmas – and it would kill April, he imagined, since she'd still put up the kids' stockings for it, and Eric would miss it, Abbey's pecan pancakes – not that he'd be back from it, either, he imagined, Cal Tech, since he talked about it as if he couldn't wait to start at it – and Katie would be lost without Abbey's advice on marine photography, even if it wasn't technically part of Katie's job – to risk life and limb filming horny sharks doing it.

Nicholas would definitely miss it, too, the batch of chocolate chip cookies she always made him for Santa, since he'd read it in a book with Amber once, that they were Santa's favorites – and Amber and Beth would miss it, too, Abbey showing it off every year – her portfolio – and it just wouldn't be the same, no matter what she said about it, since it would all be about her new life in LA once she got to it.

"It's not fair," he grumbled, nodding again, and he might as well break it to Erin early, since it wasn't – life in general, when you got right down to it.

It wasn't fair at all – not that he'd ever thought it was – since you could knock yourself out for it, giving them every opportunity, and you could try your hardest at it, being a good dad, and it could still get shoved into your mailbox between the water bill and the ads for upgraded satellite television, fucking reminders of it – that it just wasn't yours, no matter how much you wanted it.

"Checking vitals again?" April teased, peeking over his shoulder and peering down at the infant still curled happily in his arms.

"Yes," he insisted smugly, grabbing abruptly for his stethoscope as Emily continued gurgling and cooing as if she didn't even notice the strange monitors or the spooky lights or the odd noises that must have made it a pretty creepy place for the kids, at least, as far as he saw it.

"So you got it?" April asked, sighing as she sat in the rocking chair beside his.

"Yeah," he said quietly.

"She sounds really excited about it," April added, peeking over the blanket again and playing with the little girl's fingers.

"Yeah," Alex agreed, frowning again.

Of course Abbey was excited, he reminded himself, because she was Abbey, and it was all a great adventure to her.

It was always like that with her, it was all blue skies and butterflies and rainbows, and it was all she ever expected from it – her whole life - exciting work days and awesome beaches and fabulous parties and cute guys – not that he wanted her to be imagining it – that it could be earth quakes and speeding drivers and long, dark hallways and snakes in the desert and worse stuff he couldn't ward off with a big box of animal crackers, since she'd be too far away for it.

"We're paying for it, right?" April prodded, eying him closely, as if reminding him that they'd already technically agreed upon it.

He remembered it vaguely, agreeing to it – when it had been three kids out of hundreds applying from her school that got it, the opportunity of a life time, in a crowded, dangerous city.

He remembered it, too, when it had been two scared little girls who just needed to get away from it – the fucking foster care system – when it had been April and Alex and hastily bought bunk beds, before it became mom and dad and home, no matter what the fucking system said about it.

"Alex?" she asked, looking at him more quizzically.

Of course he remembered it, because it was always the same – the fucking system – and it was always just temporary. It was always just stuff your crap in garbage bags and be ready to move on to it in ten minutes, wherever it was that was next – and it was a churning stomach and empty lungs and trembling hands, not that you'd ever show it – and it was always about being dumped whether you were coming or going, and it was all about being left behind no matter what they said, when you got right down to it.

"Alex?" April asked again.

Of course he remembered it, since it wasn't like they hadn't heard it from the counselors from day one, that the girls would probably wonder about it, their biological family.

It wasn't like he hadn't warned April about it – that it would just blow up in their faces. It always fucking did, when the system was involved in it – and it wasn't like she should be upset by it, since it wasn't like he hadn't freaking said it to her a million times.

It wasn't like he wouldn't say it again, either – that he'd freaking told her so – if he could just catch his breath, long enough to utter it.

"We're paying for it, right?" she prodded again, this time more sternly.

He almost laughed about it, too. Of course they were paying for it – they were paying for the whole fucking system, and that was how it fucking worked – that some people screwed up, and some other people paid for it, and he'd known it since he was seven years old – that it was all his fucking fault, no matter who did it, and that it was always him paying for it.

"Yeah," he sighed finally, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in the rocking chair.

"I'm glad we talked about it," April giggled, smiling as she pried the infant from his arms.

* * *

><p>"I'll totally do it," Beth insisted, nodding seriously as she sipped her coffee.<p>

"We know," April smirked. "That's why I'm worried about it."

It was coming faster than she'd planned, Amber's wedding, and she'd forgotten completely about it – a bachelorette party – until Beth reminded her of it, and April could already imagine it, just from the mischievous way Beth's face lit up about it.

"It's just supposed to be a simple ceremony," Amber reminded them hesitantly as she picked at her salad.

"It will be," Beth agreed, nodding as she reviewed the guest list.

"Just the family, I know," Beth repeated, rolling her eyes at it.

April almost laughed at it, too, because Beth always snarked on it – romance novels and lacy white wedding dresses and tossed rice and stretch limos and candles and any vow that promised it, that you'd only ever do it with one other person from then on.

But she just couldn't resist it, a party, and it just grew from there once Cari got in on it, and Dani would be there the moment it turned up – the first male name on the guest list – and Jenny was already e-mailing Amber a legal primer on, the pitfalls of marriage, and it could all be a bit too much, the whole sister thing, if you weren't used to it.

"Don't forget to seat Meredith and Cristina at the same table," April reminded Beth.

"It's a long story," she said, shrugging casually at Amber as she stirred her tea, since she'd already invited them, and they were Alex's family even if he wouldn't admit it – at least, as far as Cristina was concerned – and it wasn't like Cristina wouldn't be in town that week for it anyway, the Cardiothoracic conference at Seattle Presbyterian, and it wasn't like Burke couldn't help them with it, the post wedding barbecue.

It wasn't like she hadn't warned them all already, not to talk about it – Cristina's first non-wedding or Alex's disastrous first marriage or Meredith's post-it vows before she'd done it for real – since it wasn't like Amber wasn't looking a little over whelmed about it all, already, when you got right down to it.

"Have you picked a ring?" Beth asked, flipping her phone shut and signaling to the nearby waiter for a coffee refill.

"I did," Amber smiled happily, pulling out her own cell phone and calling up a picture of it.

"Don't let Andrew drop it in a tub of buttered popcorn," Beth said, giggling. "It'll take weeks to get the smell out."

"What?" Amber asked, looking up, puzzled.

"Ignore her," April insisted, scowling back at Beth. "It only took two days," she corrected smugly.

"Alex proposed to me at a basketball game," April filled in, in response to Amber's curious expression.

"He was a little nervous," she giggled, smiling as she remembered it.

She hadn't thought about it in ages. But she could still picture it vividly, the space vampire costume and the shy hazel smile and the shaking hands and the trembling voice as he asked her for it – her promise that she'd only ever do it with him – right before he dropped it into the popcorn tub.

Not that it would've fit on her hand, anyway, she recalled, at least - over the big foam Sonics Basketball fuzzy finger she was wearing.

"Very romantic," Beth agreed, nodding and rolling her eyes.

"It was," April protested, giggling again.

It wasn't candles and dinner and roses – it wasn't even the Museum of Medical Oddities. It was the last thing she'd expected that Halloween evening, and it would never appear in any romance novel, ever, that she'd eagerly said yes to it – after they'd fished it out of the popcorn tub, and that they'd gone to a costume party after it, and that they'd done it after the party even though he hadn't even completely removed it – his space vampire makeup – and that she'd spent the rest of the night awake just listening to it, his deep, steady breathing, as he dozed peacefully in her arms with it still clutched in his fingers - a half melted mini Snickers bar – since nothing said romance quite like it.

"Andrew proposed to me on the Ferry at sunset," Amber said, smiling shyly. "He knows I love it."

"Alex gets sea sick," Beth smirked. "He would've thrown up on it."

"He would not," April insisted, struggling not to giggle again.

It wasn't like it wasn't true, and it wasn't like Beth hadn't seen it first hand when she and Alex had tried it out together, the Raging Rapids ride at the water park, and it wasn't like it hadn't turned Alex three shades of green no matter how much he denied it – and really, Beth had the pictures to prove it.

It was just that he wouldn't have done it, anyway, proposed on a Ferry boat at sunset, since it would've been ordinary, at least to hear him tell it, or – like how a normal person might do it, when you got right down to it.

"Nicholas does, too," Amber said, adding another sugar to her coffee. "It must be genetic."

"Didn't Neil do it at the Statue of Liberty torch?" April asked Beth suddenly, trying to remember it, since she swore it changed regularly, Dani's whole story about how it happened, depending on whether they were even talking – Neil and Dani – much less willing to admit that they'd agreed to it.

"Many times," Beth snorted. "But I don't know if it was ever with Dani."

"That's why you're still single," April grumbled, rolling her eyes at her again.

It was, too, because it was still mostly about entertainment to her – and about doing it in unusual places – and it made April's stomach churn just thinking about it again, what Beth would plan for Amber's bachelorette party, since she could already picture it – in vivid high definition.

She could already imagine trying to explain it to their mother, too, why they'd gotten arrested for it, and she could already imagine hearing it from Aunt Edna – that she hoped they'd all enjoyed it – and she could already see Alex smirking about it, and asking if she'd do it with him while wearing her Wonder Woman costume.

"I'm single because I like it," Beth insisted, shaking her head and smiling enthusiastically.

"It's just not for me," she added, shrugging as April glared at her, motioning with her eyes toward Amber.

It was the last thing Amber needed, April imagined, to hear Beth going on about it – about doing it on long international flights, and doing it on the London Tube, and doing it at a bull fight in Spain, and doing it at a World Cup soccer match – which the U.S. actually scored in, too, at least, to hear her tell it.

"I wasn't sure it was for me, either," Amber admitted. "I thought maybe I was just doing it for Nicholas at first. But I'm not," she added, smiling happily. "I'm looking forward to it."

"It's… different," April said quietly, almost hesitantly as Beth glanced at her curiously.

It was, too, after she'd gotten married, everything between them, really, not just doing it, not that she could explain it, exactly, since it wasn't like she'd ever expected it – to be doing it with Spider Man – and it wasn't like she'd ever dreamed of it - doing it on hideous radioactive seaweed carpet, even if it was comfortable, not that she'd ever admit it – and it wasn't like she'd ever anticipated it – that she'd be photographed by one of her own children after she'd done it – and it wasn't like it had ever been mentioned in any of those magazines that floated around the Nurses' station, that you should keep a supply of miniature Snickers Bars in your bedside table for them, since it helped them sleep better after they did it.

"I just hope I'm ready for it," Amber said quietly, shrugging reluctantly.

April almost wanted to break it to her, too, that she wouldn't be, really – even if she hadn't done it as a young girl, read about it in romance novels – since they would just ignore it, anyway, any system of home organization. It would make perfect sense to them, too, to stuff you with triple fudge ripple cake even if it was a little tight around the hips – your Wonder Woman costume.

It would mount up all around you if you didn't speak up about it, too, that you didn't actually need an entire herd of giraffes, and it would never occur to them that an ordinary candle lit dinner might be fine for Valentine's Day, not that she didn't appreciate it, beating the pants off him during the bike race, no matter what he said about it. But it wasn't like anyone could ever be ready for it, April imagined, no matter what anyone said about it.

"You will be," Beth assured her, nodding confidently. "If April could adapt to it-" she teased, laughing again as April rolled her eyes at it.

She'd hear it forever, she was sure, from Beth about how long she'd waited for it, from Dani about how prudish she'd been about it, back when she was still afraid of it, from Cari about how she should've just done it with the first willing senior attending – as if that had worked out for either of them, when she thought about it – from Jenny, about how it was never coming along – a knight in shining armor, even if Jenny did seem to be waiting for one herself – not that she wasn't doing it plenty in the meantime.

It wasn't like any of it mattered, though, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like it hadn't made it onto the Seattle Grace grapevine, about her doing it in a public fountain on Valentine's Day.

It wasn't like it hadn't revived the old stories, either, about how badly Alex had been limping after it – their honeymoon – and it wasn't like she still didn't get it, admiring glances about it from the pretty young nurses in the NICU.

It wasn't like Alex didn't swear to it often, either, that it was freaking hot – her Wonder Woman costume – and it wasn't like she was afraid of it anymore, and it wasn't like she wasn't considering it, actually, doing it in the gazebo – even if Mrs. Hensen could see into their yard from her back window,

It wasn't like she wasn't good at it, either, great even, she insisted smugly, just judging from how many of those miniature Snickers bars they went through, and how peacefully he slept after it.

"You'll love it," April agreed, smirking again, and she would, really, April suspected, since it wasn't like she could imagine it, doing it with just anybody – even if she wasn't scared of it.

It wasn't like she even could imagine it, even then, doing it in an on call room, even if she wasn't afraid of it, since it wasn't like she could imagine it no matter what Beth said about it – it not curling sleepily around her afterwards, even if it got a little melted chocolate on the pillowcase – or purring contentedly as she stroked it, even if it insisted on leaving the bedroom windows cracked open in twenty degree weather – or still being there the next morning, even if it wouldn't file the Fruit Loops box under "F" in the pantry no matter how clearly she labeled it.

"You'll love the bachelorette party, too," Beth promised, wiggling her eyebrows.

"Will it involve strippers?" Amber asked, almost a tad too eagerly, at least as far as April saw it.

"Count on it," Beth and April said simultaneously, Beth wiggling her eyebrows enthusiastically again, while April just rolled her eyes at it.

* * *

><p>He'd started packing for it in May – Cal Tech – even if it was another month until his graduation.<p>

Not that it mattered, since Eric would be starting it early – the Architecture Program – during the school's July summer session.

It was all he talked about, and it came and went before any of them knew it – his last week of high school – and they just smiled and clapped through the awards dinner in mid June, where Eric got a plaque for his high grade point average, and a trophy for his performance on the ski team, and a public announcement about it– the scholarship he'd won for it, the school of his dreams – and it wasn't like he needed it any more than Katie had, Alex noticed, their help with any of it.

It wasn't like Alex wasn't proud of it, though, and he'd already plastered it on the back of April's van, the bumper sticker for it, and it wasn't like he wasn't happy that Eric had already figured out what he wanted to do with his love of math and science, and it wasn't like he hadn't called it – back when Eric was building the motorized Lego Ferris Wheel, that he'd be an engineer or an architect someday– and he'd been right all along, no matter what April said about it.

He'd already heard it from her, though, about how he needed to talk with Eric about it – about doing it in college, or not doing it in college, to hear her talk about it – as if it wasn't totally different with guys, as if it wasn't more about just being ready for it, and not doing it without a freaking condom – no matter what the chick said about it, about how she couldn't get knocked up by it, since he'd seen it plenty of times in the NICU, chicks who had "no idea" how it happened, even after it was screaming and spitting up on them while they still swore they never thought it would happen to them just because they did it.

"Yeah, I got it, dad," Eric insisted, too, the following week, as he tossed two more batteries into it, his computer bag, along with another campus map.

Not that Eric hadn't already memorized it – and it had been Eric snarking and snickering at his sisters that whole week, since they'd both come home for it – Amber's wedding – and it had been taunting from them about it, about how no girl in her right mind would be doing it with him, anyway, and he'd seen it all before – how Eric got when he was nervous and uncertain and rattled – even if he'd never admit it.

It just wasn't Eric, Alex reminded himself – the snickering and the snarking - since it had always been like that with him, every first day of school and every first day of the season and every first meeting with someone new, it just all made him jittery and uncomfortable, no matter how much he tried to hide it.

It wasn't Eric, either, Alex reminded himself as he watched him pack – the forced enthusiasm about moving on - because it had always unsettled him, packing and traveling and moving, even when they'd just gone to Disney, or Ohio.

It was all about engineering with him, about planning and organizing and having everything in its place – and he got it from April, Alex was sure of it – and he just didn't adapt well to it, to changes in routine or new schedules, no matter how often he said he was looking forward to it – his first year at Cal Tech – where he was going to get straight A's and captain the ski team, at least, to hear him tell it.

"You need money?" Alex mumbled, reaching for his wallet.

He'd hear it again from April, about how he went over-board with it, not that she'd ever get it, what it was like to be the only kid in the freaking school who couldn't afford it, whatever it was all the other kids took for granted.

He'd probably hear it from Eric, too, about how he didn't need it, his help – since he already had his full ride scholarship and he'd get his grades and win his medals without it.

"Nah, I'm good," Eric insisted, shaking his head as he zipped it closed, the computer bag.

It figured, too, that he wouldn't look up from it, since it wasn't like there was anything else to say about it, when you got right down to it.

"You know, it's-" Alex stammered, groping for words for it.

It wasn't like he hadn't done it plenty in college, and it wasn't like he'd tell Eric not to, since really, it wasn't like he was Abbey or Katie – who should both freaking wait for it, since really, it wasn't worth it for chicks, doing it in college, at least, as far as he remembered it, except maybe to hear Mere and Yang chortle about it, not that he'd go by them since really, they were an entirely different story, no matter how you looked at it.

"Huh?" Eric said absently.

Alex's eyes just shot away from it the moment Eric looked up, the neat pile of duffle bags Eric had dropped it on, his computer gear, since it wasn't like he even wanted to think about it, even if it was entirely different with boys, since it wasn't like it was a big deal or anything if they did, as long as they used a freaking condom, no matter what April said about it.

"Your mother," Alex muttered, still grasping for it.

"She wanted me to…to.. talk to you about it," he finished, almost scowling.

"About what?" Eric frowned, still rooting through some papers on his desk.

It still looked like it always did, Alex noticed, covered with drawings and blue prints and electronic stuff he couldn't name, and he almost smirked as he caught a glimpse of it on the shelf across the room – the motorized dinosaur model Eric had built when he was eight.

It was only recommended for kids age 13 and up, he remembered, and April had chortled at him that Eric was entirely too young for it, and he'd been sure he'd hear it back then, too – when it turned out that the instruction booklet was written in Danish – until he'd gotten it working two days later.

"Uh-" Alex mumbled, still trying to put it into words.

It wasn't like April had even said it, exactly, what it was she wanted him to tell Eric about it.

It wasn't like she'd know what to tell a seventeen year old guy about it, though, and it wasn't like he could tell him to wait for it until he was thirty – though April still probably thought he was too young for it, just like the freaking dinosaur.

It wasn't like he hadn't been half that age when he'd started doing it himself, either– with that hot school nurse – and it wasn't like he wasn't half hoping that Eric had already gotten it over with on one of those high school team over-night ski trips, his first time, not that he really wanted to know about it.

"You mean sex?" Eric snickered, suddenly getting it.

Alex could already feel it, too, his face reddening. Not that it was even a big deal, doing it, especially not in college, where people did it everywhere, all the time, even in the chemistry lab while they were waiting for their solutions to precipitate, well, at least, as long as they could track the rates of change while doing it, too, since otherwise they wouldn't get full course credit for it.

"Dad?" Eric prodded, smirking again.

It was a knowing smirk, Alex noticed, at least – it looked like it.

It had to be, Alex imagined, since it wasn't like Eric wasn't a jock – even if it was just skiing and not football or wrestling.

It wasn't like Eric was a nerd, either, even if it was engineering or architecture, and it wasn't like Eric didn't get invited to the cool parties – at least, to hear him tell it – and it wasn't like Abbey and Katie weren't always teasing him about some girl who'd called for him, at least, to hear them giggling and snarking and chortling about it.

"I just-" Alex sputtered.

He still didn't have it, exactly, anything to say about it, since it wasn't like guys even thought about it in college- they just sort of did it.

It wasn't like Eric didn't already know it, either, that the chick had to agree to it – not that he couldn't warn Eric about it, really, that doing it with a chick who was doing it for the first time was just a whole different animal – not that Eric couldn't handle it, since it was a lot about mechanics and positioning and angles and it was sort of like engineering or architecture at that point – pretty much how things went together – when you got right down to it.

"Dad," Eric smirked again.

He was rolling his eyes at it, Alex noticed, and it was crazy, really, since it wasn't like there was anything to say about it. It was all April's fault, too, he reminded himself, since she was the one who was into it – all that stuff in her romance novels – and it wasn't like it was like that at all.

"I got it," Eric insisted, holding it up sarcastically, the neatly wrapped condom he'd pulled from his back pocket.

"Every time," Alex muttered, nodding seriously.

It wasn't like it couldn't happen at any time, and it wasn't like he didn't need to be careful about it, and it wasn't like Eric was ready for it – for it to end up with a screaming infant spitting up on him, while he insisted it had just been that once – not that anyone was ever ready for it, really, the whole kid thing, at least, from what he'd seen of it.

"Every time," Eric nodded, snickering again as he stuffed it back into his pocket.

"Same with seat belts," Alex muttered.

It wasn't like he'd mentioned it lately, and it wasn't like it didn't take just one accident when driving, too, and it wasn't like you could remind them of that too often, either, no matter what gagging noises the eye rolling kids made when you repeated it.

"Uh-huh," Eric nodded, sighing like he'd heard it all a million times.

Alex just nodded as he walked out of Eric's room, and he just exhaled as he walked down the steps.

He just grabbed Churchill's bowl as the dog heard the freezer open and came running for it – his frozen yogurt – and he just exhaled again as he dropped down onto the couch with his own big bowl of it, and he just nodded again as he told Churchill about it – just in case April asked – that he had talked to Eric about it.

* * *

><p>"It's beautiful," April said, fingering the delicate material as she admired it.<p>

"Mrs. DuBois loves it," Katie snickered from the bed across the room, where she was sprawled with her lap top writing her last paper for her summer class for her Master's degree.

"At least she could find a date," Abbey retorted, checking the length of the dress draped over Mrs. DuBois as April surveyed it more closely.

"It's just a freaking wedding," Katie snorted, rolling her eyes at it.

"It's so romantic," Abbey corrected, gazing at it as she examined the seams. "Amber can't wait to see it," she added proudly. "I promised I'd do my best for it."

"I'm sure she'll love it," April agreed, nodding happily as she imagined it.

It would be the following weekend, in the gazebo in their back yard, and it would be just the family, just like Amber and Andrew wanted. It would be a simple dress and a garden of flowers and a casual barbecue afterwards, since it wasn't like Amber was into it – anything fancy.

It wasn't like she was all starry eyed about it, since she'd seen it all before – how wrong it could all go – and April recognized it in Amber's eyes immediately, the vaguely bewildered terror that sometimes darkened her shy hazel eyed smile, since she'd seen it before, too, in Alex, and she really hoped Amber could see past it – the little white farm house to Iowa.

"Is Mrs. DuBois coming down for it?" Katie teased, and April just rolled her eyes at it again.

"She has a nice sun dress she could wear to it," Abbey insisted.

The remark was directed at Katie – April was sure – because Katie would probably wear shorts and flip flops to it, and Katie could dress nicely when she wanted to but she just wasn't into it.

It had a certain logic to it, though, April granted as she watched it – Katie seriously working on her research paper – that her dream involved wet suits and sun glasses and baseball caps, since it wasn't like she had to be well dressed in the world to go out and save it.

"I haven't even thought about it," April confessed absently.

She hadn't thought about her own dress at all, because she'd been so focused on it, on preventing Beth from hiring fancy caterers, and discouraging Cari from lining up a band, and threatening Dani not to fight with Neil through the ceremony - as if Amber wasn't nervous enough about the whole marriage thing – and insisting that Jenny stop lecturing Amber about pre-nuptial agreements and custody arrangements and divorce planning, and offering free legal assistance as a potential wedding gift, as if it was all just a matter of time when you got right down to it.

"I can help you pick out something," Abbey agreed happily.

April just nodded absently and watched as Abbey expertly finished the trim on the dress, and she marveled at it, really, how much Abbey enjoyed working on it, and how talented she was at it.

It didn't surprise her at all that she'd won it, one of the prized internships in LA, and she could already imagine it, Abbey designing elegant gowns for movie stars and elaborate costumes for television series and casual five thousand dollar pant suits for the rich and famous and it all reminded her of it, how much she'd envied it - once upon a time – Beth's career.

"I might need to go get something," April added, and she almost smiled at it.

She would've dreaded it, once upon a time, going to a party or a wedding with her sisters, since it just would've been her fading into the background of it – Beth's sweeping hair and long dancer's legs, Dani's bubbly stories and bouncing boobs, Jenny's narrow waist and infectious laugh, Cari's innocent, wide eyed charm and ability to wear absolutely anything – and it just would've reminded her all over again that whatever it was she was supposed to have, only her sisters had actually gotten it.

"How about that green dress?" Abbey asked, brushing her fingers over it again, the fabric she was working on. "Dad always says it's hot," she reminded her, with a mischievous giggle.

He did, too, April thought, and she almost rolled her eyes at it, Abbey teasing her about it, and she almost blushed as she remembered it, that Abbey might be thinking about it, the pictured she'd taken of them after they'd done it under the Christmas tree.

It wasn't like Alex should be talking about it when the kids could hear him, either– about whatever it was that made her look hot, at least to hear him tell it – and she could already imagine it, anyway, him recommending that she wear the Wonder Woman costume to the wedding, since really, that was the one that really turned him on, when you got right down to it.

"That one's pretty," Katie piped up, nodding absently as she typed.

April still wasn't used to it, though, the occasional compliment, since it had been up and down and largely unpredictable with it for years – Hurricane Katie.

It was different now, though, she'd noticed, now that Katie had it – her own little beach house in Florida and her dream job saving the planet and her surf board with the shark on it – as if that wasn't asking for trouble, if you asked April about it.

Alex might even have been right about it, not that she'd ever admit it, that it would always be about Katie needing more space, and that even the huge refurbished attic hadn't been enough of it, and that it was just her thing - needing a lot of it – and that it really wasn't about April or adoption or the freaking forms or the whole mother daughter thing when you got right down to it.

"Does it need any alterations?" Abbey asked absently, still studying her work closely.

April almost giggled at it, the question, since it was tight in every place that Alex liked it, the dress, and she could just imagine it – the pout that would follow if she altered it – and she didn't even want to think about it, squeezing him into a choking tie or pinchy shoes, not that the wedding required it, even if she would have to put a stop it, Alex and Nicholas joking about wearing their Super Hero costumes to it.

"No, it's fine," April said happily.

It was, too, since it was beautiful, Amber's dress, and it was already in full bloom, the flower garden in the yard, and she already had the food arranged for the barbecue, and Abbey and Beth and Katie would be handling the photography, and Eric's friends would be supplying the music, and she'd already reined her sisters in as much as she could – even if she didn't even want to think about it, Beth's idea of a great bachelorette party, since it was certain to be pornographic and probably illegal both in Ohio and Iowa, no matter what she said about it.

It was fine, she reminded herself, as she walked over to Abbey's window seat still lined with it, the small herd of stuffed animals she'd kept on it, for as long as April could remember.

It still reminded her of it – the view out the window over the backyard, the first time she'd seen it – the house – and she wasn't going to think about it, she promised it, the envelop that came like clockwork around Abbey's birthday, even if it would be the last one, technically, since Abbey would have to make her decision about it by the end of the year, whether to submit the forms to the agency for it, the contact information for her birth parents, not that she'd even mentioned it.

She probably wasn't even paying any attention to it, April imagined, as she surveyed Abbey's work tables again, covered with it – drawings and designs and photos and fashion magazines – since she was so focused on it, her up-coming internship in LA.

April couldn't help but notice it, either, the archive that still covered it, the wall of built in shelves lining her huge window, and which told the whole story of it, of the hard scrabble Russian immigrants who built Iowa, and went on to win wrestling trophies, and save babies, and design fancy wedding dresses, at least, in Abbey Karev's version of it.

April almost smiled at it, Abbey's love of history, but it should've worried her right from the start, she imagined – since it would make her prone to it, to seeking them out – and she just sighed as she watched it, Katie grab for her phone and leave the room to take it, a call from who knew who, since she'd always thought it would be Katie, really, who would do it – seek them out – just because she'd always seemed so angry about it, being left behind, even if she never said a word about it.

It hadn't been like she'd expected at all, though, April reminded herself, since Katie had never had any interest it, tracking them down, and Katie was already off on it, her great new adventure, and Katie ran away from it as fast as she could, any hint of her past – even if she had insisted on keeping it, her name, and even if she mentioned it often, that they weren't her real parents, when you got right down to it.

It pissed her off, too, April admitted to herself, frowning seriously as she ran her finger over it, one of Alex's old trophies, and she smiled as she noticed it, how carefully Abbey had polished it.

It just drove her crazy, since it wasn't like she hadn't expected it – Katie's frustration – but it wasn't like Alex deserved it, since it wasn't like he hadn't given her everything – even if he spoiled her with it – and it wasn't like he hadn't tried to make it all easier for her – even if he had gone over-board with it – and it wasn't like it wasn't the last thing he needed, to hear that he wasn't wanted for it, the whole dad thing, since it wasn't like he hadn't been terrified about it, being good enough at it, even if he'd never admit it.

"It's perfect," Abbey called, beaming at her across the room as she showed it off.

It was, April agreed, smiling happily at it, and it would be lovely, she was sure – the wedding – and she'd look great in it, she reminded herself, the green dress.

She'd keep her sisters from getting arrested at it, too, she insisted with a smirk – Beth's bachelorette party – and she just wouldn't think about it, the brown envelop, as she beamed back at it, Abbey's proud smile, and she'd enjoy it while she had it, since it would just be the family – Amber's wedding – and that was all April wanted, too, she reminded herself, when she got right down to it.

* * *

><p>"You ready?" Alex asked, watching impatiently as Amber fiddled with it, the sleeve of her dress.<p>

"It's beautiful," she repeated, staring at it as if she didn't quite believe it. "Abbey did an amazing job on it."

"Yeah," Alex agreed, nodding at it. "She's really good at it."

"Any advice for it?" she asked, surveying the small crowd as they took their seats.

"Never let him win," Alex smirked. "It kills the romance."

"Is that how you became Evil stork?" she asked, giggling at his surprised expression. "I met Cristina with Meredith," she added. "I thought this was just supposed to be family."

"They're family," he grumbled, sighing and rolling his eyes. "It's a long story," he added quickly.

"It's too bad mom can't be here for it," Amber said quietly, fiddling with her sleeve again.

It wasn't, really, Alex imagined, since it would've been a disaster. But she probably meant it different, anyway, like maybe that it might have been nice, if it had all been different.

"She'd like Andrew," he mumbled gruffly.

It wasn't like he knew that, exactly. But it was just what you said – at least, to hear April tell it – and it wasn't like he was an abusive drunk, and it wasn't like Nicholas didn't like him, even if Andrew was kind of nerdy, and it wasn't like he didn't make good money, and it wasn't like Amber didn't love the guy, at least, to hear her tell it.

"I promise," she reminded Alex, playfully straightening his tie. "I'll bring Nicholas over to play with you."

"He loves Halloween," Alex insisted, frowning defensively.

"I know," she giggled, looking over across the yard at him. "You think mom would have liked him?"

"She'd love him," Alex insisted, nodding seriously.

She would have, too, he was sure, because it sucked, it did, the voices in her head and the meds that made her confused, and it sucked that nothing could fix it, but it wasn't like she hadn't loved her kids, and it wasn't like she wouldn't love Nicholas, since he was smart and curious and athletic and funny and could spin a spider web without even thinking about it.

"Andrew's so good with him," she sighed, glancing over to where they were standing again. "It won't be like it was for us," she insisted.

It probably came out a little less certain than she wanted it to, Alex imagined. But he got it – that it just couldn't be like it had been for them, and it wouldn't, not as long as he had any say in it.

"If he ever-" Alex muttered.

He caught it just in time, because it wasn't like he hadn't heard it from her before, about how he'd handled it with their dad, and it wasn't like he'd even meant to do it, or at least, it wasn't like he hadn't regretted it, exactly, or at least, it wasn't as if he wouldn't have wanted it to be different, not that it could've been, since it would've sucked no matter what he'd done about it.

"He won't," Amber insisted, shaking her head more determinedly. "He's not like that," she added, more quietly a moment later, smiling shyly.

"He's Prince Charming?" Alex smirked.

It was lame, but it was all he could think of, to make it less awkward.

He'd heard April's sisters teasing her about it, too, as they raved about her dress, and he'd heard Katie snarking on Abbey about it – about how she could save the dress for when she met hers, and it wasn't like Amber seemed like it – the type of chick who believed in it all, since she seemed more like Yang or like Mere, who just chortled about it.

But it wasn't like they all didn't have it, some kind of dream about it, even if they denied it, at least, as far as he could tell, just hearing all the nurses and the chicks in the NICU debating and gossiping about it.

"He is," she smirked smugly, almost giggling about it. "You're just jealous."

"Not into princes," Alex insisted, grimacing and shaking his head.

"Neither is April, apparently," she teased, watching as the guests began taking their seats.

"She loves it," he insisted smugly, shaking his head and exhaling as he watched April happily chatting with Abbey.

She did love it, too, they both did – the colorful flowers and the fancy champagne glasses and the girly dresses and the pink frosted cake with the over-dressed couple on top of it – and it was good, he reminded himself, that Abbey would want it, since at least then she'd wait for it, even if Katie just snarked at it, the whole romance novel thing, while Eric just lusted after it – the cake, judging from how he was looking at it.

"Yes, I've heard," she smirked, listening as the music started. "Heard you're very romantic," she giggled.

"It was a tie," he muttered, awkwardly fiddling with his shirt button again.

It had become a running joke, between April and her sisters, and Amber of course, since she was always in on it, and he wasn't clear what she told them about it, exactly, their last Valentine's Day, except that they mentioned it often – something about them almost getting arrested in a the city park - and it always involved smirking and snickering, and whispers about where else they'd ever done it, as if they could ever do it in a public fountain, even just considering how loud April was during it.

"He's not like that," she repeated, more to herself than to Alex, as he moved into place beside her.

It was probably just nerves, he reminded himself, because they'd seen it all before, how wrong it could all go, and it was worse when you dragged kids into it – if it all fell apart.

It was hard to imagine it, too, once you'd grown up in it, the fucking system, that it could be any other way, and it was hard to trust it, any of it, beyond what you'd seen of it with your own freaking eyes, and it was just like walking off a plank – like one of Katie's little Lego pirates – when you got right down to it.

"He's not like that, right," she repeated, and it was more and assertion than a question, despite her tone, and it was like she was trying to convince herself of it again.

It was like she was searching for it – whatever it was that made people willing to do it, even when they knew it could all blow up in their faces in a heartbeat – and it was like she was waiting for it, some sign that it was right – as if it was ever something you could know before you did it – not that it still didn't piss him off, that she had to be so afraid about it – just because the fucking system couldn't do anything about it, any more than he could.

"If he is, I'll-" he'll grumbled, stopping himself before it came out, since he was sure he'd hear about it.

"You're not either," she whispered, nervously slipping her arm through his.

"Huh?" Alex stammered, eying her cautiously.

"You're not either," she repeated, nudging him to fall into step with her as they walked to the gazebo.

"I'm a prince?" he smirked.

"No," she giggled, "definitely not. But April seems to like you," she teased, motioning with her eyes to where April stood near the minister, waving eagerly toward them.

"April talks too much," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as the wedding began.


	26. Chapter 26

She almost followed it – the big yellow school bus rumbling down their street as she left for work that early September morning.

It just reminded her of it, that she hadn't packed a lunch with gold fish crackers for Eric in years, not that he'd need one at Cal Tech, and she hadn't watched Alex slip tiger shaped animal crackers into Abbey's lunch in ages, except as a joke, and it wasn't like she'd need them in LA, and she hadn't packed Katie a peanut butter and hot sauce sandwich – sliced diagonally, or it would go uneaten as a matter of some bizarre, unspoken principle - since the eighth grade, and it wasn't like she'd need it in Florida, where she probably lived on fish she caught herself and fresh coconuts and oranges and lemons snagged from the trees outside her colorful little beach house, at least, that was how April imagined it.

It was all worlds away from Seattle – the labs at Cal Tech, the fashion scene in LA, the Atlantic Ocean – and it wasn't like they needed her for any of it, since it wasn't like she could do it, build a walking spider for Introduction to Robotics, and it wasn't like she could do it, film sharks actually mating – even if it wasn't exactly pornographic – and it wasn't like she'd gotten it, ever, what made one dress the height of fashion, while another just missed it entirely – whatever it was – since that had always been more Beth's thing, or Dani's, and they still sometimes sternly supervised her own shopping trips just because of it.

It was different now, though, she reminded herself as she pulled into the hospital parking lot, and it was a fresh start, or it could be, since it was calmer now, the house, without hurricane Katie blowing through, and it was neater now, without Eric's ski gear everywhere, just booby trapping the stair case for his sisters, as far as she saw it, and it was quieter now, without Abbey always chattering on it – her phone, with her two hundred and fifty six best friends, or at least, it had always seemed like it.

She could focus more on her work, too, she reminded herself, as she pulled on her lab coat, and she could finally put it into place – her latest protocol for training the newest crop of interns.

She could finally get the Emergency Medicine Department completely organized to her liking, too, and she could finally get ahead of all the paperwork the state of Washington required for their periodic inspection of Level One Trauma Centers.

She might even have more time for publishing her work in journals, since she was still about it, being the go to chick in trauma, and she'd done it while raising it three kids, and she'd point that out to Cari, again, too, the next time her sister bragged about it – her latest award for her ground breaking cancer research – since, it wasn't like April would get snippy or snarky about it, no matter what their mother said about it, it was just that Cari was so freaking competitive about it, ever since she'd won it, that fellowship at Hopkins, and really, well, she always started it.

"More paper work?" April asked later that day, trying not to giggle.

It wasn't that Alex had brought it with him to the cafeteria. It was just that she could tell, just by how he was stabbing at his little pudding cup.

"It's only for two months," he scowled, doing a perfect imitation of Bailey's voice, and she couldn't help laughing.

It had happened again, another abrupt resignation in the NICU, and he was stuck being the interim head of it, again, and she really hoped Bailey was right that a new chair would be in place by the middle of November, because really, Alex was a great surgeon, but he hated the paperwork part of it, and he was terrible at it, the organizing part.

It wasn't like that should be a surprise, either, since he still did it – filed the cheese doodles under "R" in the pantry, long after she'd stopped arguing about it with him – giving them to Tobey and Gracie – since really, it wasn't like they weren't close enough to their ideal weights, and it wasn't like they all hadn't put a few pounds on over the years – except Mrs. DuBois of course she reminded herself, frowning and poking at her lunch and unconsciously sucking it in, her stomach, or at least, what she could of it.

"You'll finish it," she assured him, nodding and sipping her coffee.

She had no idea if it was true, and sometimes she could imagine it, that the new Chief of Surgery twenty years from then would find it all someday, mountains of unfinished requisition forms and progress and staff evaluations stuffed haphazardly in dusty file cabinets in the dark hospital tunnels, just because Alex could only take it for so long before he lost all patience with it.

She'd offer to help him with it, too – since it wasn't like she didn't have time for it now, and she really was great at it. But he'd never accept it, anyway, and he'd probably just grumble about it being like the freaking pantry but worse.

"I heard from Abbey," he said a moment later, happily gnawing on his cheese burger.

"Did she ask you for it?" April asked casually, digging into her yogurt.

It wasn't like Abbey needed it, exactly, help with her rent money. It was just that April might have mentioned it to Abbey once or twice, that Alex would really like to help her with it – no matter what he said about it, LA in general – and it hadn't taken any more than that for Abbey to get it, that he sort of needed to give it, even if she could technically manage without it.

"I sent it," he said, smiling and nodding briskly and savoring his French Fries.

He'd never see it, she imagined, how much it mattered to him – that Abbey would accept it, and Katie wouldn't, his help – and he'd never see it, she thought, that it was why Katie and he would never see eye to eye about it, since they were entirely too much alike about it, even if they'd both deny it.

"She really loves it," April said, almost wistfully, and it could've meant LA, or it could've meant Florida, or it could've meant fashion, or it could've meant marine biology, or it could've meant something else entirely, even if Abbey reveled in it, while Katie resisted it at every turn.

Not that it might not matter at all, she reminded herself, if Abbey followed up on it – the envelop that still sat under the wicker mail basket.

Not that she was thinking about it, since really, all it could do was blow their family apart, no matter how hard she'd worked at it, and tear Abbey and Katie away from them, no matter how much they'd put into it, and have it all blow up in their faces – just like Alex was obviously still worrying it would, not that he'd ever admit it – and it would probably almost kill him, she thought, if Abbey took it all away from him – the baby saving, hard-working Russian immigrant, pecan pancake eating, rent paying for his daughter swagger that came with it - not that April was thinking about it.

"Yeah," he smirked, pulling his phone out. "She sent me a picture of it," he added, rolling his eyes and pushing the phone toward her. "Mrs. DuBois' Thanksgiving get up."

"I like it," April replied quickly, focusing more closely on the image.

Not that it would ever fit her by then with that cut, she imagined, since she could already picture it – Beth's banana cream pie, made just like Aunt Edna's, and Dani's cream pastries, flown in from New York City's finest bakery, and Jenny's triple fudge brownies, which she could smell from the car, and Cari's lasagna, which she made from scratch, and she was already planning on eating all of it, since it might be their last happy Thanksgiving together, not that she was worried about it.

"It'd look hot on you," Alex agreed, nodding and studying it more intently, before glancing her over again.

"My fat ass?" she smirked and she just couldn't help it, since he still wanted her to wear it – her Wonder Woman costume – even if, as far as she could tell, it didn't quite cover it.

"I love it," he protested, nodding at her bright eyed and eagerly before answering his pager.

* * *

><p>It was a freaking hard case, with sick preemie twins, and it spilled over into October, and he didn't care that it piled up – the paperwork – since he was a freaking surgeon, not a secretary, and he reminded Bailey of that again when she squawked at him about it.<p>

He just grumbled and scowled and snarled a week later, too – when one of the twins didn't make it – and it was almost fucking worse, that the crying parents said they understood it, and that they'd been warned about it – that it was risky, the whole pregnancy – as if any of that made any fucking sense of it, that they were burying a kid even though they wanted it, while another one waited in the NICU for someone from Social Services to come get it.

It wasn't like it wasn't good, though, he reminded himself, when the other little girl finally went home, and he smirked as he watched it – her mother putting the little pumpkin one-sie on her, since it was Halloween, and he was home in time to get dressed for it, and April was already ready for it – the onslaught of trick-or-treaters – and it would be him and Nicholas as Wolverine and the Green Lantern that year, and they did too count as Super Heroes, no matter what the League of Justice said about it.

"Tight, is it?" she teased, eyeing it over closely, his costume, and she could snicker at it all she wanted, but it wasn't like anybody ever called witches for help, when you got right down to it.

"It's supposed to be," he huffed, sucking it in a little. It was, really, and it wasn't like it didn't look bulkier with the cape around it, and it wasn't like it wasn't supposed to be cold that night, and he was going to be ready for it this time, since it might be the last year, anyway, since next year Nicholas might be a little too big for it, the whole trick or treating thing.

"So, I'm doing it with the Green Lantern tonight?" she teased, lightly fingering it.

"Count on it," he insisted, nodding smugly as she reached into the candy cauldron and dug out a stash of miniature Snickers bars, just to set aside for it.

It was the perfect night for Halloween, clear and chilly with a howling wind. It was creepy as hell, too, the big old empty house up the block, and he smirked as he remembered the stories Abbey made up about it, which had kept Eric awake for weeks – not that he'd admit to it – while Katie just snickered and rolled her eyes at it, the whole idea that headless creek monsters had taken up residence in it, as if stranger things than that hadn't happened, no matter how hard the government tried to cover it up, at least, to hear the Discovery Channel tell it.

It was a big candy haul for Nicholas, though, and he smirked again as he remembered the kids all squabbling over it, as if it was even that freaking hard to sort out, anyway – since Katie only liked candy if it was red, and Eric wouldn't eat chocolate with anything else in it except almonds, and they both caved when Abbey insisted that Mrs. DuBois get her cut of it – not that it was a big deal, since Mrs. DuBois preferred dark chocolate and anything nougat, and inexplicably, Kit Kats – so it wasn't like they were squabbling over anything more than just for the hell of it, at least, as far as he saw it.

It would be like that the following month, too, he suspected – even though Katie wouldn't be making it home for Thanksgiving, at least, as far as he could tell from April and her sisters – since they were still sometimes arguing just out of the habit of it, too, at least, from the looks of it – since really, did it freaking matter if two of them wore the same color, or which of them saw it first, the over-priced designer hand bag, or who had actually done it – spilled gravy on their mother's favorite table cloth, over twenty years before – even if Jenny had been unjustly punished for it, at least, to hear her tell it.

It wasn't exactly like that with Abbey and Eric, though, he noticed when they both got home that month, since Eric had mostly been quiet about his first few months of school, and Abbey was encouraging him about it – that it was really hard the first full semester, until you got used to it, that it got better, if you just stuck with it, that it was obviously something he could do, since he's always been good at it.

Not that it wasn't all wedged in between the usual snickering about girls and snarking on fashion majors and smirking at nerds and eye rolling at math phobias – not that Alex blamed Abbey for it, since failing a calculus exam or two wasn't exactly unheard of, not that he wanted to talk about it - it was just that it wasn't squabbling over gum balls and Hersey bars anymore, either, no matter how he looked at it.

Not that he understood it, exactly, since it was different from April and her sisters, and it was different than him and Amber – even if she was right there in the middle of it, chattering away with Beth and Dani while Nicholas tugged at it, his tie, and Andrew just glanced nervously at it, not that Alex blamed him for it, since really – it was a lot of estrogen, six chicks going at it – not that Amber couldn't hold her own in it, even if she'd only ever had brothers before it, not that it mattered, since it was all just part of the family now, at least, to hear April and her sisters talk about it.

It was all still cause for thanks, too, he reminded himself, as they sat down for the meal – since it wasn't like Bailey hadn't finally freed him of it, the interim position in the NICU, and it wasn't like he wasn't just rocking it again, his surgeries.

It wasn't like Abbey hadn't asked him for it again, either, help with her rent, and it wasn't like Eric hadn't mentioned it, that his scholarship didn't quite cover his pricey ski team fees, never mind gas money – and probably condoms, not that he'd mention it, since really, they'd already discussed it, and it was implied, he was sure, whenever he reminded Eric of it – seat belt at all times – that that sort of included condoms, too, and it wasn't like Katie hadn't promised it, that she'd still be home for Christmas, even if she would miss out on some awesome Florida surfing for it, at least, to hear her tell it.

* * *

><p>"How's it coming?" April asked, surveying the cookie sheets skeptically.<p>

"Great," Abbey said cheerfully. "They're snakeheads," she giggled. "And dinosaurs."

"The Christmas spirit," April agreed, nodding sarcastically.

Of course they were dinosaurs, because it would make perfect sense in her family, to make holiday sugar cookies shaped like sea monsters, since Jurassic Park was a holiday classic, to hear them tell it.

"Not the 'It's a Wonderful Life' lecture again?" Abbey teased.

And it wasn't, April insisted to herself. It had never been a lecture – no matter what they said - it was just that that was a legitimate Christmas classic, no matter what her snarky family said about it.

"You know what dad would say about it," Abbey added, smirking as she slid another tray of sugar cookie dough into the top oven, that tray covered with space aliens and pyramids, from the looks of it.

"It's all just the freaking lighting," Abbey continued, giggling as she imitated his voice.

Of course Alex would say that, April reminded herself – since they'd heard it all before – about how it was all just the snowy special effects and the sappy music and the fancy houses all decked out like the ones in the freaking decorating magazines – or Beth's - that made people watch them.

Of course it was, she snickered incredulously, as if any movie that featured big-boobed Martians or mutant seaweed that could run on dry land or vegetables that grew legs could ever qualify as a holiday classic no matter what the Discovery channel said about it.

"Did you ask him about it?" April asked, almost hesitantly.

It wasn't like it should be any different that month, but it was, and it might be forever, and she was still struggling to find words for it.

"He already sent the rent money to me," Abbey replied, sounding vaguely puzzled.

"Good," April agreed, exhaling heavily as she nervously stirred it, her third cup of coffee, since it wasn't like she had been sleeping well, not that she was thinking about it.

"Something wrong, mom?" Abbey asked.

It was more curious than concerned, Abbey's look, but she just couldn't meet it.

She just couldn't help picturing it – four year old Abbey sitting at the counter waiting for it, the plate of animal crackers and the glass of milk Alex had fixed for her, back when she'd first arrived and was just getting used to it, even if it was 3 a.m., and even if they sort of knew she was faking it, the nightmares, not that that would've stopped Alex from spoiling her, no matter what April had said about it.

"No," April said slowly.

It wasn't really, since she'd promised herself it years ago – that she wouldn't discourage the girls if they wanted it, to know more about their biological parents.

It was just that it had all seemed so different back then, back before they were a family for real – no matter what the freaking system said about it. She'd never believed it, either, when Alex had warned her about it, that it was all just about the system, and not about the kids.

It was just that it had looked more and more like he said it did, when she saw it up close, and it wasn't like she even wanted to admit it, that maybe he'd been right about it.

"I was just wondering-" she started.

It wasn't like it would change anything, she reminded herself fiercely, since she'd do it all over again, bring Katie and Abbey home.

It wasn't like it would wipe out all the time they spent together, either, nearly twenty years, and it wasn't like it would make her stop feeling it – that she was their mother, no matter what the envelop said about it – and it was selfish, it was, to want to keep them all to herself.

It was just that, at the moment, she wasn't sure how to stop feeling it.

"Wondering what?" Abbey asked, rolling out another batch of cookies, in more traditional designs this time, bells and snowmen and reindeer and steeple topped churches.

She hesitated briefly, and it occurred to her vaguely that if this all went wrong, she'd probably blame Alex and herself and the system and her sisters and the dogs and Eric and the flower garden and the hospital and Aunt Edna and even God for it.

"If you…decided," she said finally, and she was sure she could hear it, her heart pounding in her ears, and she was sure she could feel it, the cold shiver running up her spine, and she was sure it was already roiling – her stomach – and it might even be spinning a little, either the warm, sweet smelling kitchen or her throbbing head, not that she was entirely clear on it.

"Oh," Abbey said quietly, running her finger along a spoon to clear it of cookie mix.

"I talked to Katie about it," she added, shrugging and frowning awkwardly. "She doesn't want anything to do with it," she continued wryly.

"Do you?" April asked.

She was trying to sound neutral about it, she was, and she was trying to be a good person about it, she was, and she was trying to be fair about it. It was just that she couldn't help it – whatever it was that was all caught up in her throat – as she imagined it all slowly slipping away.

"I don't know," Abbey replied, shrugging again and not looking at her.

April didn't know how to read it, either, since it wasn't like she sounded excited and it wasn't like she sounded scared and it wasn't like she sounded anything like her, really, when you got right down to it.

"I should, I guess," she volunteered reluctantly. "I mean, I get it, they did a lot for me," she said, sighing quietly.

"Yeah, they did," April agreed.

It wasn't like she could deny it – since at least the girls' mother had done it, allowed the adoption – even if it wouldn't have been necessary if the woman had protected them from it in the first place, their father's behavior, not that she was really capable of it, April reminded herself, and it had all sucked all around for them, when you got right down to it.

"I don't want to, though," she admitted reluctantly, turning away abruptly and pulling a steaming tray out of the bottom oven. "I know it's selfish, but-" she continued, her voice dropping away.

"But what?" April asked, eying Abbey closely as she glanced back at her hesitantly.

"Are you afraid we'd be upset about it?" she asked a moment later.

It wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't, for Abbey not to do it just because she didn't want them to be mad about it, and it wasn't like she hadn't promised herself years before that whatever she did – she wouldn't do that, make the girls feel guilty about it, if they ever asked about it.

"Dad would be," Abbey said wryly. "Not that he'd ever admit it."

It wasn't like April could argue it, either, since it wasn't like Alex ever said anything about it, but it wasn't like it would matter anyway, since it wasn't like Abbey couldn't read him like a wide open book just like April could, no matter how much he would've scoffed at the whole freaking idea of it.

"You'd be, too," Abbey added softly.

"I'd-" April started, but she couldn't quite finish it.

It wasn't like she was going to lie about it, not when it wasn't like Abbey wouldn't see right through it.

"I'd… get used to it," April finished, shrugging reluctantly.

She wasn't sure of it, really. But it was the best she could manage, no matter how much she'd thought about it, and how much she worried about it, and how hard she worked at it.

"I don't want it," Abbey said more carefully, scrapping a batch of cookies off the sheet. "It's not like they asked for it," she added, frowning wryly.

"That's what the letter said?" April asked. "I thought maybe they wanted-"

"It wasn't a letter from them," Abbey corrected, sighing and wiping her hands off. "It was just a form, with an old address on it. It's not like they asked to see me or anything," she shrugged.

"Did you want them to?" April asked.

"Katie did," Abbey admitted reluctantly.

"I don't think she wanted to actually meet them," Abbey added wryly. "I think she just wanted to know that they-" she paused, sighing and groping for words.

"That they cared about you?" April added hesitantly.

"Yeah," Abbey agreed, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling another tray of cookies from the oven.

"I thought you'd be the one to want to meet them," April admitted, smirking wryly.

"I thought I should probably want to do it, you know, just for them," Abbey continued, frowning again.

"But you don't?" April added, more as an observation then a question.

"I already have a family," she said, shrugging again. "I'm Abbey Elizabeth Karev," she added proudly. "I've never wanted to be anyone else."

"And you don't want any of it to change?" April filled in, smirking again.

"You sound like your dad," April teased.

"I know," Abbey admitted, smiling wryly. "I always tease him about it. You know, fashion always changes and he… doesn't," she said, rolling her eyes and almost giggling at it. "But I love that about him," she said, smiling shyly. "He's just… dad. He always will be. I don't want to lose that."

"You know he'll always love you," April reminded her. "Even if he doesn't say it," she added wryly.

"He says it all the time," Abbey smirked, shrugging again, "just not with words."

"Yeah," April agreed, nodding again and smiling wryly, "he does."

"I don't want any of it to change," Abbey insisted, poking at another mound of cookie mix. "This," she said, motioning between them. "Us, me and Katie, me and Eric, I just want it to stay like it is."

"Yeah, me too," April admitted, smirking again. "I just didn't want-" she stammered.

"To pressure me, I know," Abbey pointed out.

"It was that obvious?" April asked, looking back at her seriously.

"Well, it wasn't "seat belt every time," obvious," she teased, imitating Alex's voice again. "But, yeah, it was pretty obvious."

"Have you told your dad?" April asked.

"I was just getting ready to," she said, motioning to the plate of cookies as if it was perfectly obvious.

"Why else would I make snakehead shaped Christmas cookies?" she asked, frowning seriously at April.

And really, April realized, it should've been perfectly obvious, once she thought about it.

* * *

><p>"You know that's biologically impossible right?" Katie snickered.<p>

She'd actually kept her promise to come home for it. Not that he'd doubted it, but he was sure April had been worried about it, since it was her thing and all, that they all be together every year for it, even if it was just a fake holiday for hyper-active kids to wring cool new over-priced toys out of their parents, when you got right down with it.

"Is that what you learned in whale-hugging school?" Eric chortled at Katie, his eyes lighting up as he reached for the steaming plate of cookies Abbey had just placed on the coffee table.

He'd passed it, too, apparently, Calculus I, even if he had gotten a C in it – and would be hearing about it from his sisters for weeks.

He'd be hearing about it from his father, too, Alex grumbled to himself, if he didn't shut about it, about how he'd re-hang the giant candy canes lining the porch, since, Eric swore – according to mom – dad just couldn't get the hang of it.

"They're sharks," Katie retorted smugly.

"And at least I didn't major in skiing," she added, moving to the window to check out the blizzard raging outside.

It was a challenge even if she didn't say it, and it was just a matter of time before they would all be racing down it, the hill in the back yard, because they did it every year, and he was going to win it this year, no matter what April said about it.

"Is there enough yet?" Eric asked eagerly, stuffing another hot cookie into his mouth as he followed her to the storage room to dig out the sleds.

They could cheat all they wanted at it, too – his mangy kids – waxing the bottoms of their sleds, or trimming down the sides to reduce wind shear, or whatever else it was Eric had been trying to do to his Super Spinner Deluxe Racer that week, as if no one else had seem him at it, and they could do whatever else they wanted to prepare for it, but it was his year, he could feel it – no matter what April said about it being too freaking dangerous, or about him being too freaking old for it - and he was going to win it.

"Super-Spinner Sled Race?" Abbey asked, giggling as Alex devoured another cookie.

They had to do it anyway, no matter what April said about it – about trauma surgeries and helicopters and how she'd ever explain it to the rescue team – since the kids always looked forward to it.

"You guys don't stand a chance," he said, nodding smugly.

They didn't either, and he was sick of hearing about the Valentine's Day race that ended with a freaking tie. Not that he wouldn't have won it – if she hadn't swerved into his path, and sent them headlong into the freaking fountain, though – to be fair – at least they hadn't ended up getting arrested for it.

"Have you been getting sledding tips from your patients?" Abbey asked, almost giggling.

She could joke about Peads all she wanted to, too, just like Yang and Mere did, because he saved babies – and that was more hard core than Cardio or Neuro or Trauma no matter what anyone said about it.

"Don't need them," Alex insisted, studying the snakehead cookies closely before happily grabbing another one. "Did you make the reindeer ones for Santa?" he asked, reaching for his milk glass.

"Dad," she smirked, rolling her eyes.

"What?" he protested.

"They're his favorites," Alex added seriously. They were, too, and she'd always made them for him, and she'd always had a special plate set aside for him, and she'd always labeled it with his name – to keep everyone else away from it.

"Yours, too," she giggled, poking him gently below the ribs.

Not that he wasn't still working on it, he reminded himself, losing the gut. It was just that he couldn't do it with Abbey home, not when it meant pecan pancakes in the morning, and sugar cookies in the afternoon, and it wasn't like he was giving any of that up no matter how often April teased him about it, as if it wasn't supposed to be tight, anyway, his Green Lantern costume, when you got right down to it.

"Figured that out, huh?" he replied, gnawing on another one.

It wasn't like he hadn't known it, that the kids had been totally playing April about it – the whole Santa Claus thing.

But it wasn't like she wasn't still all into it, the whole Christmas tree decorating and hanging stockings on the fireplace and gift wrapping part of it.

It wasn't like the kids didn't have fun with it, either, and it wasn't like it wasn't a great excuse to buy them Super Spinner Saucer Sleds, he recalled with a smirk, since – if it came from Santa – it wasn't like she could insist they return it.

"When I was seven," she pointed out.

He remembered it, too, vividly, her seventh Christmas, because it had been toy building hell that year, and there must have been a freaking strike at the elf factory, as far as he remembered it – since every freaking toy came in billion pieces, "some assembly required," with instructions in Swahili or Spanish or Sumatran – and it wouldn't have helped to call the toy hot lines, no matter what April said about it.

"You did not," he scoffed.

"The cookies, the carrots for the reindeer, the life savers for the elves-" he continued.

It had been quite a production, really, and it had been sappy movies with April, too, and fancy dresses for the girls – at least, until Katie started squawking about it – and always a new hat for Mrs. DuBois, since she was a Frnech woman and liked to be fashionable, at least, to hear Abbey tell it.

"Totally playing you," she smirked, grabbing a cookie for herself.

"It so worked," she added, nodding smugly.

Not that they'd needed it, the kids, he reminded himself, since it was just another fake holiday.

But it wasn't like his kids weren't going to get it – whatever they wanted – since it wasn't like it hadn't sucked, to be the kid who never got any of it, and it wasn't like that was happening to his kids, no matter what April said about it, as if she should even talk, given how spoiled her and her sisters were, just judging from how they chattered about it – even if they never did settle it – who set Aunt Mae's hair on fire the only year they tried it, candles on the Christmas tree, as if that wasn't just asking for it.

"What gave it away?" Alex smirked, rolling his eyes at her.

It wasn't like she wasn't April all over again when it came to family holidays.

But she wasn't crazed about it – and it wasn't like she'd lecture anyone about the proper way to hang jumbo candy canes, as if they wouldn't have come marked "this end up" if it actually freaking mattered.

It wasn't like she was snarky about it, either, like Katie, or baffled by it, like Eric, and it wasn't like it would ever stop her, anyway, since she'd still leave cookies out for Santa every year, even if the other kids teased her about it.

"My Barbie Dream house," she said seriously.

"Those are harder to build then they look," he protested defensively.

They were, too, and sure, he probably should've started on it sooner. But it wasn't like it warned you about it in the instructions – at least, not in any language that you could actually read about it.

"Not that," she giggled.

"I mean, the stairs were off center a little," she pointed out, raising her eyebrows at him. "But they were also covered with the same cookie crumbs that were on your shirt the next morning."

"That was a long night," he reminded her, nodding his head, his expression growing wide eyed.

"It wouldn't have been if you'd called the help line," she teased, echoing April's voice.

"I didn't need it," he huffed.

He hadn't , and even if he had – it wouldn't have been in English, anyway, so it still wasn't the point, no matter how often April mentioned it. "And Barbie and her friends loved it."

"Yeah, they did," Abbey giggled. "I bet my daughters will, too," she added proudly.

"Huh?" Alex asked, almost choking on the milk he was drinking.

"Don't worry," she insisted, laughing and reassuring him. "It won't be for a while. But I'm planning on having three girls," she said authoritatively, as if she couldn't imagine it any other way.

"Great," Alex grumbled, rolling his eyes, "more estrogen."

"Get used to it," she teased. "They'll be here every year."

"I better fix that staircase, then," he muttered, shaking his head.

"Santa rocked it," she reassured him, shaking her head. "Even if the stair case was a little lop-sided," she added, giggling again.

"Mrs. DuBois still believes in him," he pointed out smugly.

"I do, too," Abbey protested, poking him gently below the ribs again. "He's my dad," she added, giggling as he rolled his eyes at her.

* * *

><p>It had snowed for three days straight, huge fluffy flakes, and it was perfect weather for a Super Saucer Sled race – at least to hear her psychotic family tell it.<p>

She didn't want to hear it, about how nothing could compete with it – a good old fashioned Super Spinner Racing Saucer – and she wouldn't even listen for it, the sound of emergency vehicles.

She'd ignore it, too, if any television news crew asked her why a certified Level One Trauma Surgeon hadn't warned them about it, about how it could be a health hazard to hurtle down it at top speed – a hulking snow covered mountain – as if it shouldn't be obvious to anyone who actually thought about it.

It was past dusk, too, when they finally came in from it, a crystal clear cold evening, and she caught just a glimpse of it through the window, the full moon hanging above the tree line, and it was teasing and laughing and snarking and squabbling until she finally caught the gist of it – that Eric had won it, again, and that Abbey had cheated at it, at least to hear Alex tell it – and that Katie had caught it on video, apparently, the flight of it – Alex's Super Racing Saucer – before he landed on it, splitting it in two – and that it was going up on U-tube for all her friends to see, no matter what he said about it.

She wasn't going to listen to it, though, the annual battle over who cheated at it, and she just rolled her eyes at it as they watched it again, as if Jurassic Park could in any way qualify as a "holiday classic" – no matter what her family said about it .

It all just bubbled around her until Eric went off to it, a party down the street, and the girls took off for it, a holiday photography event at Beth's, and it took her a bit to notice it, that Alex had left it largely untouched – the huge plate of cookies on the coffee table – and it puzzled her as she trailed it up the stairs, the path of snowy foot prints, and she rolled her eyes as she saw it, the window finally closed in their bedroom – as if they hadn't argued about it for a well over a decade – and the steam still coming from the master bathroom, and the lump burrowed under the thick plaid comforter.

It was still wrapped around him even twenty minutes later, too, she noticed, after she'd showered and changed herself, as she peeled the puffy comforter back – the huge purple and brown bath towel that would ordinarily be on the floor, no matter what she said about it.

She pretty much already knew it before she tugged it away, too, just from how stiffly he was lying all tangled in it, and she just smirked as she surveyed it, since it was already an angry blue black and purple spreading clear from his lower back down around his hip, and she just rolled her eyes as she dug into her bedside table drawer and pulled it out, warming it in her hands, the anti-inflammatory lotion for it, and she just shook her head at his groan as she kneaded the lotion into it, his fractured ass.

"You know it's broken, again," she noted clinically, working her fingers into it.

Of course it was, she reminded herself, and it wasn't like she hadn't warned him about it – that he was too old to go hurtling down that mountain on it.

It wasn't like he needed to do it, since it wasn't like the kids would be impressed by it, even if he hadn't landed on it, and landed it on U-tube. It wasn't like Katie would ever stop snarking on him about it now, either, and it wasn't like Eric wouldn't snicker about it, and it wasn't like Abbey would love him any for more it, even if she would probably show it to Mrs. DuBois, too, the video of it, since Mrs. DuBois was part of the family, too, when you got right down to it.

"It's just a bruise," he insisted, muttering through gritted teeth as her hands dug into his lower back.

"No," she corrected, frowning and studying it more closely. "It's broken," she said flatly.

"It's a good thing you've got next week off," she added, smirking again, since it wasn't like he could stand for hours bent over a table with it, and it wasn't like she couldn't already imagine it – the speculation about it on the hospital grapevine – about what had happened to it.

"It'll be gone in a few days," he countered, groaning again as she pressed more firmly into it.

She almost laughed at it, his refusal to believe her on it, and she almost considered it, hauling him to the hospital just to prove it.

She could already picture it, though, driving through Seattle with it sticking out of the convertible and pulling into the ambulance bay with it – if it didn't get them arrested for indecent exposure on the way to it – and wheeling it to the X-ray machine, all pink and frost bitten – while the giggling young nurses got an even better look at the rest of it, since it wasn't like it covered all that much of him– the blue and black and purple bruising – no matter how extensive it was, when you got right down to it.

"More like four to six weeks," she retorted, still working her fingers over it.

He'd know it, too, if he could just get a look at it – how much it looked like it had on their honeymoon – not that it had been easy to convince him of it back then, either, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like he'd admit it.

"It's just a bruise," he repeated, groaning again.

She almost smirked at it – the grimace on his face as he tried to straighten it out – since it wasn't like she hadn't done it before, and it wasn't like she wasn't the go to chick in trauma – so she just grabbed it from her night stand and snapped it again, a high definition photo of it – and she shoved the screen in front of his eyes, since it wasn't like any doctor wouldn't notice it immediately, that it was fractured no matter how you looked at it.

"I told you so," she grumbled, frowning at him as he scowled at it.

He could squawk about it all he wanted, too. But it wasn't like he could even move it all that easily, and it wasn't like she hadn't warned him about it the last time, that he could break it again.

It wasn't like she hadn't pointed it out to him many, many times over the years, either, that he just didn't mix well with it – a snow covered mountain – and it wasn't like she didn't have the honeymoon photos – which she'd only ever showed to Beth, since really, it wasn't like she could keep it from all of her sisters forever, what had really happened on it – to prove it.

"It's… not… that… bad," he retorted, groaning again as she pressed into it.

"I could send it to Cristina for a second opinion," she noted, motioning to the photo on the camera's glowing screen again.

"Or Cari," she added, smirking at his scowl.

She could already imagine all the commentary on it as it raced along the grapevine, too, with Cari confirming that it was fractured, and Jenny adding that it might be grounds for a law suit, and Dani asking for another photo of it not bruised – just for comparison purposes – and Beth smirking about how she could get it a magazine model deal and Cristina pointing out that it should be his SGH ID staff photo and even Aunt Edna weighing in on it, since she'd always admired and teased him about it – not that he ever minded it, April reminded herself, since he'd always gotten a fresh banana cream pie out of it.

"It's…fine," he grumbled, wincing again.

She just rolled her eyes as she caught a glimpse of it, too, the half read Christmas romance novel on her nightstand, as she continued to knead the anti-inflammatory lotion into it, his still bruising ass.

She juts snickered about it, too, about how it was always firm and rounded and tanned and muscular – the way the romance novelists described it – as if the entire Y chromosome race wasn't entirely too prone to it, landing on it, and even fracturing it, while trying to prove it, whatever the hell it was they were trying to prove when they decided to do it, hurtle down a huge snow covered mountain on it, as if it wasn't asking for trouble, and as if any freaking doctor shouldn't know it.

"It's purple," April reminded him flatly, as she continued to work over it.

She almost giggled as she pictured it, too, him landing on it in a suit of shining armor, since it wouldn't have protected him, she reminded herself, wincing, the sharp metal digging into it, and it probably would've left him all frost bitten underneath it, anyway.

She could just imagine the video of it, too, of the kids trying to cut him out of it as they loaded it all into the open convertible and drove it to the hospital, and she could just imagine it – the grapevine legends that would grow up around it – about how they were doing it on a ski slope, in matching suits of shining armor - and she could already hear her sisters teasing her about it, about that being what you got when you waited for it – to do it with a knight in shining armor – as if the whole suit of shining armor wasn't completely impractical even just from a positioning stand point, Beth would no doubt remind her, when you got right down to it.

"Abbey cheated anyway," Alex muttered.

She almost laughed at it, since she could just imagine it, the sight of him landing on it, the broken red Super Spinning Racing Saucer sled, and refusing to admit it, that it had fractured him, too.

She continued to work the lotion into it, though, since it would just ache more if she didn't loosen it, and it would just bruise worse if she didn't get more circulation to it, and it would just twist him up into even more of a pretzel if she didn't keep it heated, since it was already fading, the warmth from the hot shower and the thick cushy towel, and it definitely wasn't a good groan that escaped him, no matter how you looked at it.

It wasn't like it didn't soften, though, as she worked her fingers up along it, the base of his spine, and it wasn't like she didn't notice it, the way his breathing slowed as she traced her hands along it, the long stretch of his sides, and it wasn't like she couldn't hear it, the deep sighs that followed it, and it wasn't like she couldn't feel it, how it all just melted into her hands.

It wasn't like she hadn't seen it many, many times before, either, the sleepy half smile that accompanied it – a low rumbling groan that was definitely a good groan – and it wasn't like it wasn't cheating, too, the way she stretched it along his body, her own warm skin, and it wasn't like she could help it, brushing her lips across his forehead as her hands slid around it, his smooth skin, even if it was an entirely different kind of pain in the ass, that he just wouldn't admit it.

"If you say it," she teased, running her fingers along it again, "I'll take care of it."

"Like Wonder Woman?" he smirked, trying to straighten it again as she giggled.

It still made her shiver, when he slipped it from her shoulders, her fluffy yellow robe, and it still made her sigh as it gave way, the clasp of her bra, and it still made her murmur when his warm hands peeled it away, and it still made her breath catch in her throat as he nuzzled into it, and it still made her heart flutter as he kissed lightly along it, the curve of it, as it all melted into his fingers like it always did.

"Wonder Woman might be a little too much for it for a few weeks," she reminded him, giggling again as her fingers trailed lightly over it.

"That's cheating," he mumbled, another deep sigh echoing through him.

It was – she'd admit it – since it wasn't like he could resist it, the way her fingers trailed lazily over his body. It wasn't like he could ever shift away from it, either, even if he could actually move without wincing – even if he'd never admit it.

It wasn't like it didn't lull him to sleep, too, when she paced it just slowly enough, and it wasn't like she wasn't used to it, the way it all purred contentedly in her arms, even if it was cheating, she thought with a smirk, the way she was stroking it.

"She's not going to do it," April added moments later, almost whispering as she listened to it, the steady soft murmurs that rippled through him as she still traced her fingers along it.

"I told you so," he insisted, nodding smugly as he stretched it hesitantly again, as her fingers continued to loosen and warm it.

It would be just like him, too, April thought with a smirk, to figure that Abbey's decision not to contact her biological parents had anything to do with it – his willingness to hurtle down a snow covered mountain on it – as if it hadn't been sealed years before when he'd driven home with Mrs. DuBois in it, an open convertible, in twenty degree weather – not that she'd ever admit it.

"She likes having Santa Claus as a dad," April teased, running her fingers gently over it, and giggling as he tried to inhale it, the softening midsection below his ribs.

"I'm working on it," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as she slid her arms more closely around it, tugging it closer.

Not that he'd have any success at it until January, she imagined, since it would be Abbey's sugar cookies and Abbey's signature pecan pancakes until then, and she'd spoil him rotten with it, since it wasn't like she'd ever hid it very well, that he'd always be her first choice for a dad no matter what the forms said about it, and that she'd always be their daughter – a talented, successful descendant from hard working Russian immigrants whose families went on to save babies and to run Level One Trauma units and to rescue injured dolphins and to develop sophisticated architectural plans for sky scrapers – to hear Eric tell it - and to design stylish and fashionable clothes to look good while doing all of it.

"It's okay," she giggled, sinking her fingers into it, again.

"I don't mind it," she added, and she didn't, really, since it wasn't like Bat Man didn't like it, that she had Aunt Edna's hips, and it wasn't like Spider Man wasn't totally into it, Wonder Woman's coned top, and it wasn't like the Green Lantern hadn't convinced her of it long before, that she was freaking hot, no matter what seeing her sisters had made her feel about it – that it was all too small or too wide or too jiggly – and it wasn't like it wasn't muscled and rounded and firm, she reminded herself with a giggle, even if it was bruised black and blue and purple whenever he broke it, and came out a little pale in some photos, at least, to hear Beth's expert opinion on it.

"You love it," he smirked, almost squirming as he hesitantly tugged her closer, trying not to wince.

"I'd love it more if you'd admit it," she teased, since it obviously hurt, even if he wouldn't say it.

She'd obviously been right about it, too – all of it – even if he wouldn't admit it, and she just wanted to hear it, even if it would make him scowl, that he hadn't needed to worry about it – about what Abbey might do with it, the freaking envelop, and that it had been a bad idea, the Super Spinning Saucer sleds, and that it wasn't practical, a convertible in Seattle, and that it wasn't just her zoo – since she wasn't the only one doing it, spoiling them rotten – and that he wasn't just in the NICU at 3 am. doing it, checking his patients' vitals, no matter what he said about it, and that he actually liked her family, especially Aunt Edna, judging by the looks of it, and that Katie would finish it, her Master's degree, since she was so passionate about it, and that skiing was still dangerous, no matter how many medals Eric won for it, and that the Museum of Medical Oddities was not a normal Valentine's Day hot spot – even if she did love it.

"It's… not… bad," he mumbled again, but it was a good groan this time, definitely a good groan since she knew it all by heart, every inch of it.

It was still possibly cheating, though, how she was stroking it especially since it was broken and all.

But she still wanted to hear it, those three little words she'd waited for since the day he'd broken it the first time– "you were right," since it was too good for him, to patch things up with Amber, and he did too love it, playing with Nicholas, and it was too just easier to find things in the pantry when it was alphabetized and the carpet in the family room was still ugly even if it was comfortable – to the point of being pornographic, judging from some of the pictures that had been taken on it – and the creek monsters did not track muddy foot prints through her kitchen no matter what the Discovery channel documentaries hinted at about it, and there was too a right way to hang jumbo candy canes no matter what he said about it.

"It looks just like it did on our Honeymoon," she giggled, eying it closely again.

She certainly hadn't expected it, back when she'd said "I do" to it, his nervous, fumbling proposal after he'd fished it out of the popcorn tub – her simple butter covered engagement ring – that she'd be spending her favorite Christmas to date doing it – kneading anti-inflammatory lotion into it – as it all coiled lazily around her, murmuring happily as he nuzzled closely into it again, his lips brushing her neck.

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

She could feel it all rippling through her again as his hands ran idly over her body, and she could feel it catching in her throat again, her breath, as his cheek grazed hers, and she could feel it trembling slightly through her limbs as it all pressed closer into her and she could feel it all quivering slightly as he wrapped it all up more tightly in his arms and she could feel it fluttering in her chest again as she caught it, the familiar shy hazel smile flickering across his face.

"It's freaking fractured," he grumbled, scowling as if he'd just bit into a lemon. "You happy now?"

"I love it," she agreed, nodding as she giggled again.


End file.
